


Hawkeye and the General

by soterianyx



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 11:41:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 60,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1265203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soterianyx/pseuds/soterianyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ed and Winry's wedding provides the perfect time for Riza Hawkeye and her commanding officer to sort out their complicated relationship. But a sudden kidnapping and unresolved family mysteries force them to abandon any romantic implications they might have even begun to think of, as they fight to keep each other alive, and the secret to Flame Alchemy hidden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Invitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was posting the new chapter of this story earlier when I suddenly realized that I didn't even have an author's note attached to the first chapter! How rude is that? So hello there! Thank you for deciding to take a chance with my little story, and if any reader is rereading this chapter, my apologies!
> 
> This is my first fanfiction that I've decided worthy enough to post on this lovely site, so I'm very sorry for any mistakes (grammar, syntax, content, etc.) in the story. If you have any suggestions, comments, questions for me, please write a review or message me! I would love to hear from you all!

It finally happened on a Thursday morning in the winter of 1919. The postman was making his way down to the offices of the Colonels and Generals at Central Headquarters to deliver that day’s daily mail when he noticed that there were six copies of the same letter on top of his cart. He frowned and pulled the stack out, hoping there wasn’t a mistake and that he’d have to return to the sorter in the basement. In an elegant green script, the entire stack was addressed to the office of Brigadier General Roy Mustang, each with its own recipient. Turning the stack over, his eyes widened as he recognized the sender. _Edward Elric_. Dropping the letters back onto his cart, he made his way hurriedly to the general’s office, muttering about those damned

Saluting smartly, the mailman stepped into the office, taking note of how many people were present. A sandy-haired man sat at one of the center desks chewing thoughtfully on a cigarette while scribbling away at a form. Beside him, a slightly rotund man was on the phone, talking furiously to the person on the other end in a different language (it might have been Xingese) while a blond woman stood next to him frowning. The last occupant in the room was a tall grey-haired man digging through a large filing cabinet in the corner. The blond woman, a Captain, the postman noticed, turned towards him and nodded, “Place the mail on the General’s desk please. He isn’t here at the moment, but if there are no urgent forms to be delivered then you may leave.”

The mailman nodded back, did as he was told, then replied, “Not today ma’am, but the Fuhrer himself insisted that the General get his note. I placed it on top of the stack on the desk.”

Captain Riza Hawkeye glanced at the portly man to her right, and then stepped over to her superior’s desk, taking note of the pink paper and flowers outlining the Fuhrer’s personal letterhead. She sighed, allowed herself a tiny smile, and then nodded again. “Thank you Cadet. Dismissed.”

After the postman left, Riza turned back to the man on the phone. Just at that moment, First Lieutenant Heymans Breda slammed down the receiver and swore.

“Problems in paradise Breda?” the man with the cigarette smirked.

“The Xingese ambassador refuses to even _discuss_ vehicle trading with Amestris! With all the other trading we’re doing with Xing, it would be wise to use the vehicles we’re using to transport the goods in Xing. Especially in the nobility…”

Captain Jean Havoc waved him off, “Yeah yeah yeah, we’ll deal with that once the Fuhrer actually _talks_ to the Emperor in a conference. Ling hardly lets anything slip by him without his consent anyway so relax Breda. The ambassador will just get his ass handed to him later,” Havoc took a long drag on his cigarette. “Now, can someone help me take these files down to Investigations? You know, my legs and stairs,” he jerked his thumb towards the stack on his desk.

At that moment, Captain Vato Falman came over to the cluster of desks in the center and nodded. “Just about to make my way down there myself,” he said a little stiffly, but then smiled. “Say, when’s Fuery getting back from vacation again?”

“Sometime next week I believe,” Riza answered. “He called the General yesterday to let him know how his parents were doing in the West. He’s staying at Headquarters there.”

Havoc shrugged. “Hope the kid’s okay. Anyway, did mail just get here? I think Breda was expecting some love letters from Cynthia,” he sniggered. Breda elbowed him in the shoulder and took his seat next to his friend.

“The mail did get here,” Riza went to the General’s desk and sifted through the somewhat small stack. “Oh, look.” She grinned. “I’m pretty sure these are invitations.” She passed them all out, leaving Fuery’s and the General’s on the large desk. “So Edward and Winry are finally getting married,” she mused.

“Ha! The kid’s finally asked! So when’s the date?” Breda tore his open. “In the Spring, looks like. That’s a little over four months away. Hope the General doesn’t have to go out into the field during that time. You know what that’s like,” he grumbled, almost to himself.

“Hope that what?” a deep but pleasant voice sounded throughout the office. All four officers immediately snapped towards the door, saluting as one. “At ease soldiers. Looks like the mail got here on time for once.”

“Yes sir. We’ve all received invitations to Edward’s wedding to Winry in the Spring. Breda was just commenting,” Riza shot her fellow officer a glare, “that you might be called into the field during that time. Perhaps we should talk to the Fuhrer about taking some leave to attend,” she held up her own invitation. “Yours is on your desk sir.”

Brigadier General Roy Mustang swept off his imposing black overcoat and hung it up, making his way to his desk. “So Fullmetal’s popped the question, eh?” he sat down and picked up his own letter. On the front of the envelope was handwritten:

_Brigadier General Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist_

_Central Headquarters_

Tearing open the envelope, two cards fell out. Riza noticed this and frowned, moving her hands behind her back to better reach the pistol there. Hopefully the second card did not contain any threats or explosives, should the letter be sent falsely. Roy, however, picked up both cards and opened the one containing the wedding invitation.

_We are pleased to announce that_

_You are hereby invited to the wedding of Edward Elric and Winry Rockbell_

_On Saturday the 1 st of April, 1920_

_In Resembool of the East_

_Please Arrive Two Days Prior for the Wedding Rehearsal and Dinner_

_R.S.V.P. by January 30, 1920 via Mail_

The corners of his mouth twitched up as he thought of the boy, finally turned man, and sighed as he realized how much time had passed. Edward would be twenty-one next year, and he would be thirty-five. He sighed again, and checked his calendar. He would have been working, but Ed would come and beat his ass if he didn’t show up to the wedding. Of course he would go. “Captain, R.S.V.P. for Fullmetal’s wedding for all of us. It seems we’re going to a wedding.”

Riza nodded and smiled. She turned to go back to her desk but remembered the second card that had fallen out of the General’s envelope. None of the other envelopes had had another card in them, but her suspicion cleared as she saw that Roy had already opened it and was reading contentedly. Perfectly safe. Satisfied, she sat down to reply to Edward and Winry.

The second letter Roy had received had nothing to do with the upcoming wedding. Almost. Running his hand through his hair, Roy reread the last few sentences of the letter. Ed usually sent him a letter like this to give him news of Alphonse and himself, and the day-to-day dealings they had in Resembool. Life was pretty quiet for the two brothers until the wedding announcement (of course Roy had known that Ed was going to propose to Winry for quite some time now and wasn’t surprised). But this letter was different. Besides the mundane things Ed usually wrote about, the last paragraph was a bit unnerving.

_We expect you and the team to show up of course. If you didn’t, well, let’s just say neither of us wants to find out what will happen if you decided to flake out on me at my own wedding. But here’s the deal Mustang. I don’t want you there just because you were once my superior or whatever, or that you make a good punching bag under stress, or to piss off. I, (me, Mustang, and no one else) really want you to come over and kid around some, because, even though I had a father, he wasn’t really much of one. Hohenheim wasn’t there for me as much as you were and I really appreciate it. Of course you’re still an egotistical prat, but you were the closest thing I had to a father during those rough years and I want you to know that. You’re a good guy Mustang, and even though a lot of people don’t see it that way, you are to Al and me. But don’t go spreading that around Central now! I still want you to know you’re a right bastard._

_Anyway, say hi to Hawkeye and the rest of the team from me, Al, and Winry. We all miss you guys! (from Winry) Speaking of Hawkeye, when are you two going to tie the knot? Haven’t you guys been skirting around each other for, like, a million years? Tell Grumman to hurry up and get rid of that fraternization law. You guys aren’t getting any younger! You don’t have to become Fuhrer to get married and have a life outside the military. Just don’t wait too long and do something you regret. Believe me, I know._

_But we’ll see you guys in Resembool, five months from now! And Mustang, ditch the uniform for at least the wedding and reception. You can wear it to the rehearsal dinner if you want since you’re so attached to the damn thing._

_-Ed_

Roy sighed again. Damn kid. Was he always so perceptive? He and Hawkeye _had_ been skirting around each other since Ishval, but had there really been any time for that kind of relationship anyway? Besides the fact that it was forbidden, they had been so focused on getting to the top that their social and personal lives had been intentionally sacrificed. Was there even time _now_? The answer was a glaring and obvious no. He still hadn’t reached the top and after that, there was the move towards a democratic Amestris. The amount of time _that_ would take, Roy didn’t even want to think about. The needs of many certainly outweighed the needs of one, himself included. And Riza had agreed and jumped in head first with him. There would be no personal happiness for him just yet.

“Sir?” Riza’s voice cut in, startling him. “Sir, is something wrong?” She was standing a few feet away from the front of his desk, brown eyes searching his face for any signs of worry.

“Ah, no Captain, excuse my, ah, lack of diligence. Fullmetal has written me a most interesting, ah, _report_. He did mention that he says hello to you and the rest of the team,” Roy stuttered a little bit before regaining his composure. “Perhaps you’d like to read his letter? He says that Alphonse is reportedly planning to propose to May sometime next year,” he held out the letter to Riza.

“Yes sir. I will,” she stared at him, to make sure nothing was out of sorts, before reading the letter. She frowned when she came to the paragraph. Blushing, she returned the paper back to Roy. “I’ve written the R.S.V.P. sir. Shall I send it with today’s outgoing?”

Roy nodded. “I will join the Fuhrer in his office in about,” he glanced at the clock, “fifteen minutes. I received his note,” he gestured to the absurdly pink paper on his desk. “Would you like to join?”

Riza shook her head, “Thank you sir, but we have an ambassador situation to attend to at the moment,” turning to Breda, she continued, “you know, the Xingese situation.”

Smiling, Roy turned back to the stack of mail on his desk, “I know, Captain. Carry on. Remember to send that R.S.V.P. or else Fullmetal will have my hide.”

The rest of the day went by without any other disruptions. After the General returned from his meeting with the Fuhrer, in a slightly irritated mood, he sat down at his desk and reread Ed’s letter. President Grumman had been considerably more jovial than he was and the “marry my granddaughter” jokes had been a little more pressing this time.  

“Seriously Mustang, isn’t it about time you asked her? For god’s sake man, do _something_ before it’s too late! I’m sure she wouldn’t turn you down,” Grumman had said, winking at him.

“With all due respect Fuhrer sir, _drop it_ ,” he had replied, a little more tersely than he would have liked, but he still seemed to get the point across.

“Ah, oh well. You can’t blame a grandfather for trying! I just want my granddaughter happy with someone before I go,” Grumman smiled sadly. “So you’ve been invited to the Fullmetal Alchemist’s wedding have you! Of course you and your team may have that entire week off for the festivities. But you must tell me how it goes! If any… _unusual_ happenings take place.”

They had conversed about the status of Ishval and the Fuhrer had seemed pleased with Roy’s progress. There had also been no chess game today and Roy was thankful. He hadn’t been sure if he could have played a game with his thoughts running wild with Ed’s letter. _Father. Like a father. Get married. Married. MARRIED._ Like hell he was going to get married. Pushing those thoughts out of his head for the day, he turned towards the stack of forms that required his signature and started working. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for reading (I hope it was okay?), and don't forget to review if you have a suggestion or anything! Feedback is a wonderful thing!


	2. The Promotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These next chapters aren't very "action-y" or that exciting, but I think they are necessary for the continuity of the story.
> 
> Also, I'm not sure how long this story will be; I've written around 25,000 words in about 8 chapters so far, and though I've got a fair idea about the ending, filling in the rest of the story will take a little longer. Once again, if you have any questions, comments, concerns, or suggestions, please message me or write a review!

Three months later, the “situation” with the Xingese ambassador had finally subsided, but now the General and his team had a different problem on their hands. Of course the Emperor of Xing wouldn’t miss his friend’s wedding, and the news that the monarch would be visiting the East swept Amestris. Ling had sent word ahead notifying the Fuhrer how many people would be in the royal entourage, their plans for the week of the wedding, and to _please_ not give him any more security than what he would bring with him, because _we_ _don’t want a repeat of what happened the last time he visited_. Fuhrer Grumman had responded a little cheekily, pointing out that if His Highness would just let his wife handle the security, then maybe the little _incident_ wouldn’t have happened.

But now, since Roy was the only one of the brass that personally knew the Emperor, his team had been put in charge of keeping the media and publicity to a minimum. Lately, the office had been a flurry of phone calls, reporters weaving in and out of officers, and more paperwork, all of which made him a little jittery. He had been busier than was usual at this time of year, and when everything calmed down, the messages and reports sent back to Xing, and the regular people back in the office, the Fuhrer had called him down to his office.

“Please, take a seat General. This might take a while,” Grumman had said, a slight twinkle in his eye.

Nodding, Roy saluted and sat down opposite the Fuhrer.

“It’s that time of year again, General. You’re up for a promotion again,” Grumman handed him a thin packet of paper, detailing a few reasons to confirm the application for promotion. “Of course, your entire team is also up for promotion, and I’ve no doubt they’ll pass their tests. I, however,” he paused and cleared his throat, “have other plans for you.

Roy stared at the old man, wondering if there was some kind of catch to his promotion. “Yes sir.”

“No need to get tense, my boy! No need to get tense! Why don’t you read your own application,” Grumman gestured to the packet still in Roy’s hands.

“Sir.” Flipping through his team’s applications, he finally came across his own file. “ _I, Fuhrer Grumman, in accordance with the rights of the Fuhrer, request that Brig. Gen. Roy Mustang be admitted for promotion to **General** , a full three ranks above his current. My reasons are listed on the reverse side of this application. In addition to his promotion…”_ Eyes widening, Roy snapped his head up to the Fuhrer. “Sir! A full _three_ ranks?” He said in disbelief.

“A full _three_ ranks, my dear boy! You have more than earned it,” Grumman laughed heartily. “Don’t worry, General Armstrong is up for promotion too, so you two may bicker over who gets which Headquarters. Though I’m pretty sure I know which you’re to choose,” he breathed. “The application still needs the signatures of the Parliament, and they’re scheduled to meet for promotion applications in the next few days. You’ll still have time to sign your papers as _Brigadier_ General Mustang!”

Roy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had composed himself back to his cool demeanor and talked with the Fuhrer about the plans scheduled for Fullmetal’s wedding. After giving his assent to the promotion (why in the hell would he not?) and returned back to his office. _Full General. He was almost at the top_.

After giving the news to his tired team, who suddenly became invigorated by the news of all of their promotions, they retired from their work and departed for home. He and Riza walked out of Central headquarters, talking quietly about the promotions.

“So we’re moving back to East Headquarters sir,” she noted, perceiving his inevitable return back to his old “home.” “When should we all start packing for the move?”

“The Fuhrer said that Parliament still had to approve of the promotion in the next few days. Make ready to leave Central in a week, Hawkeye,” he answered. “And make sure to tell the others as well. Especially Fuery. He’ll want to notify his parents in the West.”

They reached his car in a back lot. “Shall I take you home Captain?”

“Yes sir. That would be most kind,” Riza let herself into the passenger side. “’I’ve finally received a confirmation from Edward and Winry, sir. About the wedding. Apparently we’re being set up in a hotel about thirty miles from the Rockbell home, as everywhere else was full.”

“Damn journalists,” Roy swore under his breath. “How much time do we have before the wedding, Hawkeye? We need to be situated at Eastern Headquarters a bit before. I want to have everything running smoothly there before I take off.”

“About three weeks, sir.”

He sighed. “We’ll have to work quickly then. I’ll have to set up a second-in-command there for our leave of absence. Anyone you recommend, Hawkeye?”

“No sir. Not at the moment. It’s been a while since I have visited Eastern,” Riza snuck a glance at her superior to her right. He hadn’t been as enthusiastic about his promotion as she had expected him to be, but as she studied his face, she could pick out small laugh lines and worry lines in his calm face, denoting slight aging. Like Edward had said in his letter, Roy Mustang wasn’t getting any younger. Her hand went to her own face subconsciously, wondering if she looked the same and if Roy noticed it in her face as well.

“It’ll be just like old times, Captain,” Roy said contentedly, and Riza wondered if he would ever get rest from his goal. After his promotion, he’d be one step away from the top, and she made note to contact her grandfather later about it. Fuhrer Grumman was old and he knew it, and he’d have to name a successor eventually. She wouldn’t pressure her grandfather into choosing Roy, but she had a feeling he would name him anyway. He’d always been her grandfather’s favorite, even back when Roy had been a major. Roy would get there.

“Of course sir. My grandfather has also given us official permission to take our leave of absence for Edward’s wedding. From March 30th to April 7th, which is nine days sir,” she remembered. “Shall I go over the schedule for the week, or do you want it delivered in your files for tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, Hawkeye. I’m shot from today,” he replied a little wearily, slowing the car to a stop in front of her apartment complex. 

“Sir.” Riza saluted after stepping out of the car. “See you tomorrow General.” And gave a tiny grin.

Casually saluting back, he grinned back and made his way home.

Stepping into his own apartment and flicking on the light, he flopped down on his couch, running a hand down his face. _Full General_. Still in disbelief about the day’s news, he sat for a few moments pondering the next few weeks. He’d have to find a suitable second-in-command at Eastern Headquarters right after taking up command there. He would have had Riza do it, but since she was going with him to the wedding, that was out of the question. He’d also have to set up his office and change his serial numbers again once he arrived, and that was always a pain in the ass. And then there was Fullmetal’s wedding to prepare for. Packing, booking the trains, and making sure the Emperor of Xing wasn’t assassinated during his stay. Life would have been much easier if Fullmetal hadn’t planned his wedding right after his promotion. But the kid hadn’t known so it technically wasn’t his fault. Still, a lot had to be done before he and his team could get some rest at the wedding.

Standing up and moving to his bedroom, he undressed and stepped into the shower, relishing the hot water. Tomorrow was going to be another long day. He’d have to pass the promotion tests, and since he was a State Alchemist, he’d have to pass those as well, and preparing for those always exhausted him. Tomorrow morning he would pay a visit to the outdoor arena for the State Alchemists and get in some practice before the other alchemists showed up. That meant getting up earlier than usual. _Oh well. I could use a workout. It’s been a while._ After drying himself and dressing again, he laid down in bed, falling into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

 The next morning, he woke up at four and made his way to the arena. It was still dark when he punched his identification number at the front entrance, and no one was around. Smiling to himself, he shed his overcoat and uniform jacket, rolling up his shirt sleeves, standing in the middle of the arena. He pulled on the red-inked gloves and snapped. Orange and yellow lightning streaked from his fingertips and exploded into a massive firestorm a few hundred feet away. How long had it been since he’d used his alchemy? The feeling of raw power coursed through him, pulsing in his veins.

Whipping around he snapped again, trying to aim a little closer, but with a precise attack at the head of one of the dummies scattered throughout the arena. The head burst into flame, showering sparks, but Roy had already moved on to the next one. One by one, each of the forty or so dummies had their heads, limbs or torsos blown off or set ablaze. Satisfied, Roy stripped off his gloves and shoved them into his pants pocket, noticing that the half cape on his pants had been set on fire. It was beyond mending and repairs so he ripped the stupid thing off the rest of his uniform and flung it away from him, irritated. After his promotion, he’d be getting ones with his new rank anyway.

Peeling off his damp shirt, he sat down on one of the benches on the perimeter of the arena, wiping away the sweat. _I might as well work on some hand-to-hand._ He checked his pocket watch. _5:57. Yeah I’ve got time._ Rising from the bench and wrapping his palms in thin strips of cloth, he took a defensive stance, raising his hands. He pushed himself, going through the hand-to-hand techniques he’d been taught by instructors at the Academy, mixed in with some of his own and what he’d picked up from others throughout the years. His body screamed for rest, but he ignored it and somersaulted through the air, landing hard on his feet. His eyes caught a few bystanders on the edge of the arena, but he ignored them too, blood pounding in his ears. Dodging the bits of dummies scattered on the ground he swept a foot underneath what was left of one that was dangling from its post. The post shattered and the dismembered dummy went flying through the air and landed near Riza Hawkeye’s feet.

“Well done sir,” she said with her hands behind her back. “Though you might want to make your kick attacks a little more pointed.” Riza noted that Roy was shirtless and tried to look away from his body.

Roy got up from his crouched position and wiped his face. “Of course Captain. Would you bring me my extra uniform from the office? I seem to have ruined this one,” he glanced at the ripped cloth of his pants.

“Yes sir. The day’s just started sir. Your file work is already at your desk. Back to your posts!” she said sharply, turning towards the lower-ranking officers sneaking a look at the Flame Alchemist. As they scrambled away from view, Roy walked back to his belongings on the bench.

“I’ll be in the lavatories, taking a shower, Captain. You’re in charge of the office while I’m away,” he said over his shoulder.

“Yes sir. Your spare uniform will be waiting outside the door then. Do try and don’t be late today sir,” she replied and turned towards the office. Smiling, she picked her way across the arena to the opposite entrance, avoiding the wreckage.

After the General was showered and newly dressed (this uniform was even scratchier than the one he usually wore) he sat at his desk, refreshed from his workout, and eager to get today’s work done. Working diligently, with only minimal daydreaming, the team managed to get not only today’s paperwork finished and filed, but half of the next day’s as well. Congratulating his team, Roy sent them all home around six that evening, reminding them about Fullmetal’s wedding and the week they had off for it.

Riza politely declined Roy’s offer to drive her home today, noting his slight disappointment as she shook her head. She wanted to walk home by herself to think about a few things. Earlier that day during lunch, she and her good friend First Lieutenant Rebecca Havoc (née Catalina) had discussed Edward’s upcoming nuptials.

“For god’s sake Riza! This is the perfect time for you and Roy! You guys have the whole week off together with no duties to attend to. Get a sexy dress and live a little!” Rebecca had grinned, and looked around to make sure no one was listening in.

“This is _Edward and Winry’s_ weekend, _Havoc_ ,” Riza had scoffed, “Besides, we’ve got to keep an eye out for potential threats to Ling.”

“Yeah yeah yeah. Just know that Jean and I will be watching you guys for a slipup,” Rebecca laughed it off. “It’s bound to happen.”

As one of Riza’s closest friends, Rebecca had been in the know about her unusually deep loyalty (or was it love?) for Roy almost since the beginning. At first, Rebecca was skeptical. Really? Her best friend was having _feelings_ for that boar of a man? But over the years, she had gotten to know Roy through Jean and her repugnance for Roy had subsided. Riza was loyal to him to a fault and after the Promised Day, Rebecca couldn’t deny it anymore. So she helped. Sort of. She and Jean tried to set them up during their own wedding a year ago, but Riza and the General were just too stubborn.

“Just drop it Rebecca, Roy’s not looking to settle down until after he–”

“–becomes Fuhrer. Yeah I _know_ Riza. The man’s got a god complex. It still amazes me that you still follow him around.”

Rebecca had finally dropped the subject and they had moved on to talk about the wedding plans. Winry had asked both of the women to be bridesmaids in the wedding, and they would have to fitted for dresses two days before the ceremony. They had gushed over the dress concept art Winry had sent them, each deciding on their own style.

Riza smiled at the thought. A dress! It had been a while since she’d been in a dress, and though she was a military woman by heart, it was relieving to put on something more feminine than her uniform. She grudgingly let her mind wander to what Roy would wear. They’d all have to be in their dress uniforms for the rehearsal dinner since it was technically a formal occasion for a State Alchemist (of course Ed wasn’t one anymore but he’d never officially resigned and Grumman seemed to have “overlooked” that fact, as Ed was still allowed access to the libraries and laboratories). Edward had also ordered Roy to “ditch the uniform” for the actual ceremony, so he’d have to show up in a suit or tuxedo. Riza’s lips twitched up at the thought of that. Though she was used to seeing Roy in suits when he wasn’t in uniform, her heart still raced at seeing him in one at a formal setting.

 _This is ridiculous_ she thought. Walking down the sidewalk in downtown Central, she picked up her pace to avoid the gathering night crowds. _I’m acting like a schoolgirl. All giddy about a boy._ She frowned and pulled her overcoat tighter.  _At least Grandfather would have something nice to say about it_ she thought sarcastically. _I’ll have some time after the move to Eastern to go pick out a dress for the reception._

She forced her mind back to the actual wedding. _Something sexy Rebecca said._ Riza smiled.


	3. The Transfer

The rest of the week was dull. Except for the report that notified the team that they had all passed their tests for promotion (Roy had also managed to impress the adjudicators observing his annual assessment that year, and had passed unanimously) and that their new uniforms had been sent to them, they didn’t have any glaring problems that needed to be sorted out before their move. They would be transferring to Eastern the next day, once everything in the office and their apartments had been packed up. As per custom, they all wore their new uniforms during their last day at Central, but mostly all personnel had been promoted to make room for incoming cadets so there wasn’t much change.

Roy, however had to be stopped innumerable times by many of the lower generals he passed, so they could acknowledge his new rank. He passed sharper-than-usual salutes as he walked the halls of Central Headquarters, and though he carried a stern look on his face, he was feeling flighty inside. There hadn’t been a full General since General Hauser had died twelve years ago. Now there were _two_ in Central for the day and he was one of them. Olivier Armstrong had also been promoted to full General. She and Roy had eyed each other suspiciously during their meeting with the Fuhrer earlier that week and though they were civil to each other whilst in the presence of their leader, they shot each other scathing looks afterward.

“Mustang.” Armstrong had bit out in acknowledgment, taking her coat from Miles, now a Lieutenant Colonel. “Don’t bother with the formalities boy. I’m keeping control over the North, but I’ll also be overseeing the West. Stay out of my way or I’ll kick your ass back to Brigadier,” she narrowed her eyes and scoffed. “A full General at your age, ha! Watch how you play this political game boy.”

“Why Olivier, is that a warning for me? Are you looking out for my hide? You’re going soft,” Roy grinned and waved it off. “I’ve been playing this game for years. I think I know how to handle myself with the brass. I’ll take control over the East and South then. Say hello to your brother for me at your lovely _estate_.” He dipped his head in farewell and took his leave.

Olivier turned on her heel and swept from the hallway, blond hair curling behind her. She’d always been a tough woman, and even tougher to beat in politics. She would still be a formidable opponent in the bid for the presidency. But that was still a long way away, and though they didn’t show it, they held a high amount of respect for each other.

“Lieutenant Colonel Hawkeye,” Roy called as he stepped into his now empty office.

“Sorry Chief, she’s not here at the moment. I think she went down to the range to get in some last minute practicing. You know her,” Captain Jean Havoc replied, stacking a cardboard box in the nearest corner. “The rest of us are here though. You need a hand?”

“No Captain. We just need to go over some last minute preparations for the move to Eastern. I’d prefer if she were here though. I’ll go and retrieve her,” Roy answered back and exited again.

“Of course you would,” Breda mumbled, snickering slightly. “Seriously though. The sexual tension between those two is enough to make even Fuery nervous,” he said, glancing at Second Lieutenant Kain Fuery packing up his communications devices. Though he had been up for promotion to Sergeant Major of the Army in the enlisted ranks, he had opted to move up to being an officer instead.

“I heard that Breda!” Fuery blushed but bent down to his devices again.

“Rebecca said that she tried to talk to Riza the other day about her, ah, _relationship_ , with the General,” Havoc puffed on his cigarette.

“Yeah? Well, knowing your wife, she probably screwed it up and just got the Hawk’s Eyes mad at her,” Breda flicked a wad of paper across empty desks at his friend. “Maybe that’s why Riza’s at the range now. She couldn’t take any more of Catalina’s nagging.”

“Shut up Breda. My wife is perfectly capable of extracting information from other women. Especially when it comes to the Lieutenant Colonel. You know how close they are,” Havoc scooped up the wad of paper and smoothed it out, folding a paper airplane, and sent it flying towards Major Vato Falman.

“And what did Catalina have to say about their ‘conversation’?” Breda gestured.

“Same old, same old. Hawkeye’s still got the hots for the Chief but won’t admit it,” Havoc shrugged. “Those two should just shag already and stop messing around. I’m getting impatient.”

* * *

Roy picked his way to the firing range, salutes still following him, and immediately made out the figure of his Lieutenant Colonel. She was practicing with her handguns this time, instead of a rifle, and she had taken her uniform jacket off, either because it was warm or she didn’t want the extra attention to her new rank.

But she noticed him as he made his way towards her lane and she stopped firing to salute. “Sir! I was just getting in some practice before it was time to clear out.”

Roy saluted her back, and answered, “Of course Lieutenant Colonel. I would like to go over some last minute plans for the next two weeks with the team when you’re finished here.”

“In that case, sir, I am done now,” she fired two more shots at the target before holstering the weapon at the small of her back and picked up her jacket.

“Are you sure Hawkeye? It isn’t urgent, I was just letting you know,” he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I can wait here.”

Riza stared at him before saying, “Sir, the more time we have to prepare for the move is better. I will be at the office in twenty minutes; I have to talk with the arms officer here first. Go ahead of me.” She urged.

When both Riza and Roy finally made it back to the barren office, Roy addressed his team. “Is everything packed Havoc? Make sure nothing is left behind, especially our, ah, _field notes_ ,” Roy flicked his eyes towards the few boxes in the corner.

“Everything’s good to go Chief. Nothing’s been left behind, and all of our mission notes have been coded with, uh, which code was it Fuery?” Havoc asked Fuery.

“Er, Code 3 Zeta Osiris, sir. The one we normally use for Investigations. Breda coded them,” Fuery nodded towards Captain Heymans Breda.

“Excellent. I’ve taken care of my own notes,” Roy tapped his fingers on the black notebook on top of his sparse desk. “Eastern Command has been notified of our transfer and our office is currently being made ready for our arrival. Did you manage to get Major General Ranford’s file Breda?”

“Yes sir. He’s clean,” Breda cleared his throat. “No accusations, no demotions, and no tribunals. He’s got a clean slate sir.”

“Good. Notify him immediately of my request and make sure the call is private. He’ll be in charge of Eastern during our leave,” Roy ran a hand through his black hair. “Hawkeye’s booked the trains in two weeks for Resembool, but we’ll have to get transport from the train station to our hotel and then back to Resembool. Havoc, you’re in charge of getting it. Fuery, you know the drill when we reach Eastern. I hate bugs,” Roy said grimly.

Fuery nodded. He’d known that he’d have to sweep the General’s office once they arrived, and it was always a long process. Hopefully no one would mess with it while they were away in Resembool.

“Falman, you too,” Roy added.

Falman was in charge of gathering specialized and potentially volatile information regarding the higher-ranked officers, and Roy trusted him with memorizing the serial numbers and information codes of each one. Though it wasn’t really hard for him to do, he had to get access to the codes in the Investigations Department and that could be a hassle. He’d definitely be working a lot harder than he’d been the past few weeks.

“The Fuhrer has requested my presence in a few Parliamentary meetings at Eastern Headquarters during the first day of our vacation, so you five will be leaving for Resembool without me,” Roy paused. His officers had known they would be leaving without him, and Riza was still uneasy about it. She was still his adjutant and protector and she briefly thought about canceling her own ticket to Resembool so she could be with him. But Roy had assured her that nothing would happen, after all, _no one would dare attack the Flame Alchemist right after he’d been promoted by the Fuhrer himself_ he had said, and promised to make it to Resembool in one, healthy piece.

“Don’t do anything stupid, especially in uniform, while I’m away. I expect to be arriving at the Resembool train station at 1535 on March 31st, in time for the rehearsal dinner. I’ll find my way to the Rockbell home,” he said smiling slightly and checked the clock. “It’s 1745. You all have enough time to go home and pack what’s left. I will meet you at the train station tomorrow morning at 1015 hours. Don’t be late.” Roy stood, placing his palms on his desk.

“Sir!” his five officers saluted and left the office, Hawkeye lingering by the door once everyone had already left.

“Permission to speak sir.”

“Granted, Lieutenant Colonel.”

“You know how I feel about you staying at Eastern Command while we’re leaving sir–” 

“I know Hawkeye,” Roy cut and took one last long look at the empty office, checking to make sure nothing had been forgotten. He picked up his black notebook and tucked it into an inside pocket of his overcoat, along with his arrayed gloves. “I’ll be fine on my own.” He looked at her from the corner of his eye judging her reaction.

She sighed, almost invisibly. But she shot him a caring look and replied, “Alright sir. Please don’t die while we’re away. And don’t forget to actually _load_ your gun this time.” She grinned but then dropped it almost immediately afterward. The General had a nasty habit of holstering his gun without any ammunition.

Roy’s hand instantly went to under his left arm feeling the holster and weapon there under his jacket. “I’m pretty sure it’s loaded now, Hawkeye.” He grinned back and locked the door to his office. “Why don’t I drive you home? It’s beginning to rain a bit,” he nodded towards the floor-length windows in the hallway. Small drops of water were starting to splash against the glass.

“Alright sir. Just don’t get your gloves wet,” Riza smirked and followed her superior out into the rain.

* * *

The team met at the train station the next morning, small bags containing a few personal belongings at their feet. A train car had been reserved especially for the General and his officers and while Fuery checked swiftly for bugs and taps, they settled in for the long ride. Going over the agenda with them again on the train, Roy reminded them of their duties once they arrived. “You have a meeting with Major General Ranford once we get to Headquarters, sir,” Riza remembered. “He is already aware of the situation in two weeks.”

Roy nodded in agreement. “Good. The meeting should be short then.”

“Any word from Fullmetal? I told him that I would be able to make it just in time for the rehearsal dinner over the phone, but his fiancée was yelling at him,” he said after a few moments of silence.

“Yes, sir. He and Al will be meeting us at the train station when we arrive to take us to our hotel. I guess he talked with Havoc last night. He also mentioned something about being late to the rehearsal dinner,” Riza smiled to herself and looked over at Roy.

“I’ll try to be there on time,” he grumbled. “As long as Grumman doesn’t keep me for anything else after the Parliamentary meeting.”

“Also Ling and his entourage are expected a day before us. Breda’s been in contact with Ling’s head of security to make sure nothing goes…awry,” she added quietly.

“Of course. I’ll have you fill me in when we get to Eastern, Hawkeye.” He stood up and stretched. “I’m going to the back to get some rest before we arrive. Wake me up a half hour before,” Roy placed a hand on her shoulder, withdrew it before anyone else noticed, and walked away.

Once they finally did arrive back at Eastern Command, the rest of the day was filled settling in. As Officer-in-Charge, Havoc directed the move into the new office, ordering file deliveries and answering secretarial questions from lower-ranked Eastern officers. Roy and Riza met with General Ranford to discuss the agenda for their leave of absence, silently hoping the General was a man with good enough sense to do as he was told. Satisfied with his choice, Roy shook Ranford’s hand and saluted. Ranford wasn’t too keen on taking orders from someone almost twenty years younger than him, but he had accepted the position graciously without complaint. 

Arriving in his new office, Roy slumped down in his chair, content with the results of the day’s activities, and ordered everyone to go home and rest. It had been a long day and though it was fruitful, more work had to be done in the morning. 


	4. The Rehearsal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter and most of the ones following, I've decided to focus on Riza's thoughts during certain situations. I know this is pretty typical for female characters and their female writers, but I wanted to delve into Riza's character more, and as a girl myself, I can sympathize. I tried to keep her in character as much as possible but I took the liberty of assuming that Riza is not just a military robot who happens to be female. She's a girl, woman, female who happens to be in the military, and who is entitled to her own thoughts and opinions, as long as they stay in her head. I hope you understand where I'm coming from! As always, questions, comments, complaints, suggestions are always welcome. Thank you for continuing on with me!

It seemed like their vacation would never come, but it finally did on a beautiful spring day in Eastern. Though Roy wouldn’t be joining them, Riza checked in with the General before they left for the train station, reminding him to load his handgun and keep his gloves on his person at all times. If she couldn’t be there, he’d better keep all of his weapons on him that day. She’d see him tomorrow night at the rehearsal but still couldn’t help worrying. After dropping Black Hayate off at a local pet hotel for safekeeping during her vacation, she walked down to the train station.

Their train ride had been relevantly uneventful, and when they got off the train at their stop, Edward and Alphonse were waiting for them. Riza smiled at the brothers and gave them each a hug. Ed had grown taller than she, but not quite as tall as Havoc, and his features reflected Hohenheim more. She didn’t point this out to him, as the last time Roy had said so, the golden-haired boy had flipped out. Al was still docile and sweet as ever, and he grinned at her. “How was the trip down here?” he asked, taking her bag and setting it in the trunk of their car.

“Not bad. Pretty boring actually,” Riza replied. “Thanks Al,” she smiled back at him.

“And how’s the big man doing here, eh?” Havoc slapped Ed on the back, almost knocking the wind out of him.

“Hey! Just because you’ve got your legs back, doesn’t mean everyone else has!” Ed struggled to find his balance. “I’m doing just fine Havoc. Where’s the wife huh?”

Havoc laughed, “She’ll be arriving soon. In a few hours I think. Her train left Central around the same time as ours.”

“And how’s _your_ fiancée?” Falman asked Ed, helping him to load everyone’s luggage.

Ed rolled his eyes. “Completely freaking out. You know how women are. No offense Hawkeye,” he added glancing at Riza, but she just smiled. “It’s _What if people show up late?_ Or _What if my dress doesn’t fit on the day of the wedding? What if everything goes wrong? What if this, what if that_ ” Ed grumbled a bit. “She’s got everything down to the last t, and she keeps thinking everything is gonna get messed up. I keep trying to tell her things will be okay, but she won’t listen,” Ed sighed. “Hopefully I have a _sane_ wife by the end of this weekend.”

“Don’t worry Ed, she’ll relax. As soon as the rehearsal dinner ends I’ll talk to her and perhaps help calm her down. Her other bridesmaids have already arrived, right?” Riza set a hand on Ed’s shoulder.

Ed nodded. “Yeah, May’s here, and so is Gracia and Paninya. They’re all back at the house.”

“Good. At least she has some girl friends to help her through this. Especially Gracia,” Riza assured him.

Though it wasn’t quite comfortable, all seven of them piled into the car and left for the Rockbell family home. Pinako had promised a good dinner and no one could say no to a home-cooked meal. Afterward, while the boys helped to clean up and Al and Havoc went back to the train station to collect Rebecca, Riza went to help Winry sort her head out. May Chang was there, as was Paninya and Gracia Hughes, and all four women went over the wedding checklist.

“You and Rebecca will have to be fitted for your dresses tomorrow Riza,” Winry said, after double-checking to make sure she hadn’t left anything out. “It shouldn’t take long, just a few hours, since the clothier already knows which designs you guys picked out. The rest of the girls have already had theirs fitted, but we’ll all be there so you guys don’t have to go it alone. Believe me; it gets boring after a few minutes.”

Riza nodded and smiled, “Of course Winry. What time?”

“Around nine in the morning. And we should be done around noon,” Winry answered, pushing her long hair out of her face. “And when’s that General of yours getting here?” she demanded. “Ed’s already threatened him, I think.” She narrowed her eyes.

Riza grimaced a little, but replied, “He said around 3:30 p.m. in time for the rehearsal, and that he’ll find his own way down to the banquet hall here. I just hope he doesn’t get lost.” She muttered under her breath.

“Riza dear, you’re blushing,” Gracia held up a hand to Riza’s cheek, and Riza felt her face redden a little more.

“Er, yes, I, um, should go help the boys get ready to leave,” Riza shrugged it off and took Gracia’s hand. “I’ll see you all tomorrow early in the morning!” she stood up to leave. “I think I heard Rebecca get here a little while ago. I’ll tell her about the fitting tomorrow morning Winry,” and left the room, annoyed at herself for blushing at the mention of Roy as “her General.” _Can everyone else really see it?_

“She always was a stubborn one,” Gracia sighed. “Maes said she would be.”

“She’ll come around,” Winry said. “They always do.”

* * *

After meeting with Rebecca and once again piling into the Elrics’ car, they left for their hotel and found their rooms. They had all been booked together on the first floor so it was easier to communicate with each other. As Riza was the only woman, well, _single_ woman, she received her own room, and noticed it was in conjunction with another room. Of course it would be Roy’s, who wasn’t present at the moment, but her head was pounding at the possible tension. Roy would be living, breathing, sleeping _right there_. Pushing those thoughts away, she set her alarm clock. _He’s **always** been next door in hotels. We will act like professionals like we’ve always done. It’s not that hard._ But she was lying to herself. Nothing had happened between the two while out on field missions, at least nothing inappropriate or suggestive, but there was always the unspoken question, _Is anything going to happen this time?_ Nothing always did, and Riza couldn’t help but feel a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. _Nothing ever will_. _Until he reaches the top._ Which could very well be ten, twenty, even thirty years from now. Her grandfather was old, but he was still healthy and very much alert, and Riza wondered just how long she and Roy would avoid each other.

She unpacked her clothes and hung them in the closet, careful not to further wrinkle her evening dress for the wedding reception. It had been displayed in a little boutique in downtown Eastern, and she had indulged herself a little, trying it on, and liking it so much that she had bought it the same day. _Something sexy_ she remembered Rebecca saying, and fingering the material, thought it was very much indeed. She normally stuck with black dresses to avoid attention to herself, but this dress’s color had caught her eye: a bold dark blue hue, but not matching the color of her uniform. The owner of the boutique had mentioned that blue was a lovely choice that went well with her hair, and hemmed it for her on the spot. “Hoping to catch a young man?” the shopkeeper had winked at her, noticing her bare ring finger. Riza had just smiled and thanked the woman for her time.

Running her hand down the dress’s length, she smoothed out a few wrinkles packing had made. Conveniently, the dress had a full back that covered her marred tattoo, and wrapped around her neck in an elegant little bow. It had a slit that went up to just above her knee which wouldn’t show her thigh holster (just in case), and though it was considered floor-length, the shopkeeper had reassured her that with heels, it would stop just below her ankle so she didn’t have to worry about possibly tripping. She pulled out the rest of her belongings; handguns included, and set them out on the bed. Both pistols were set on the nightstand by the bed, the revolver underneath the bed. Pulling out a novel, she settled into the chaise lounge to read for a few hours before going to bed, still daydreaming about the next day.

Morning found her a little too early for Riza’s liking, but she pulled herself out of bed and into the shower. Choosing a short sleeved shirt and a knee-length skirt in neutral colors, she dressed for the day and strapped her usual holsters underneath her arms and around her right thigh. Roy would be arriving later that day, and she needed to be prepared. Packing her dress uniform and sash into a day bag, she finished getting ready and locked her room.

She met the rest of the men in the lobby of the hotel, the Elric brothers, Winry and the rest of her bridesmaids already there. “We brought a few more cars this time,” Al noticed her shocked look.

“Ling and Lan Fan are also here but as the Empress is expecting, they’re still at their hotel,” Ed also said, answering her unasked question. “We’ll meet you ladies at the banquet hall.” He waved over his shoulder taking Al and the men towards their car.

Riza waved back and Winry took her arm. “We’ve got a full day ahead Riza,” Winry grinned. “We’re gonna get you and Rebecca to the clothier first, before we run a few other errands. Wait until the General sees you in your dress! You’ll look stunning,” Winry added, and shot her a knowing look. Riza chose to ignore it.

Once they were at the tailor’s, Riza decided that she didn’t like fittings. The tailor had warned her about needle sticks, and apologized ahead of time, but they still unnerved her. And her arms had gotten a bit heavy from holding them out for way too long. Rebecca was having a harder time, and chose to emit a small shriek every time she got stuck. Riza rolled her eyes and willed the tailor to finish faster.

Her bridesmaid gown was indeed quite beautiful, though she wouldn’t have chosen this color, a light pink that was almost peach, had it been her own wedding. It didn’t really match her hair color, she noted, a bit girlishly. She had chosen the cut to hide her tattoo, and though it wasn’t as attractive as a sleeveless dress would have been, the halter-style dress covered her entire chest and back, a thin strap wrapping around her neck. Rebecca had frowned at her choice, but she didn’t know about the tattoo on her friend’s back, and Riza made up an excuse about not wanting to show a lot of skin with a ton of men around. At this, Rebecca’s eyes had narrowed and she had muttered something about “that perverted Mustang.”

Thankfully, the fitting didn’t take as long as Riza expected, and when they were done at the clothier’s, Winry dragged them all to pick up some last-minute decorations for the wedding day. Though Winry, Paninya, and May were all enthusiastic about _more shopping_ , Riza could feel her eyelids beginning to droop around the fourteenth or fifteenth centerpiece Winry was currently showing them. She envied Gracia, who had opted to stay at the Rockbell’s home for Elysia, who was to be Ed and Winry’s flower girl. When the bride was _finally_ done with her shopping, the women headed over to the banquet hall for the rehearsal dinner.

Riza hadn’t known how many military personnel would be attending the wedding, and her eyes widened as she recognized some. Denny Brosh and Maria Ross were conversing off to the side, an engagement ring sparkling on her finger; Lieutenant Colonel Alex Louis Armstrong was trying to impress a lower-ranking officer whom Riza didn’t know (she might have been one of his own subordinates); Darius, Heinkel, Jerso and Zampano were also present, sitting at a table and talking, dress uniforms stretched a little tightly across their transformable bodies; Second Lieutenant Sheska was deep in conversation with Gracia Hughes, alongside Tim Marcoh, Yoki, and Dr. Knox; Izumi and Sig Curtis were talking with Edward near a wall; and Alphonse and May were holding hands and smiling. There were other officers that she didn’t know there as well, but Riza assumed they had come with their superior officers as bodyguards or adjutants. In all, she estimated about fifty military personnel present at the rehearsal, and perhaps more hadn’t been able to make it and would show up tomorrow.

Her hand went instinctively to her thigh, feeling for the weapon there. There were a bit too many people she didn’t know, and all were potential threats to the General, if he ever got here. But she greeted her friends, and saluted those whom she didn’t know. Rebecca went straight to her husband’s side and started whispering, which Riza didn’t like, but she ignored it and went to congratulate Maria and Denny on their engagement. Maria hugged her and wished her luck with the General as well (Riza pretended not to hear that either).

After changing into her dress uniform and adjusting the white sash at her hip, she began to worry about Roy’s arrival. _Hopefully he’s on time_. He still had half an hour before the rehearsal started, but she let her mind show her glimpses of accidents on the train, assassination attempts while he was by himself, and him getting lost in Resembool. Shuddering, she tried to engage Rebecca in conversation to keep the morbid thoughts at bay, but Rebecca was clinging to her husband and wasn’t really paying attention to her. She noticed Ling and Lan Fan near the center of the room, watched by three bodyguards dressed in black from the corners of the room, and tried to go over the security measures the team had put together for the Emperor and his wife. Guards had been placed over all entrances and exits of the building, as well as each doorway and ventilation shaft. She knew the royal couple’s bodyguards would be more than capable of taking out a would-be assassin, but they had taken a little extra caution since the Empress was currently expecting with a possible heir. Riza smiled at the thought of a new baby, and was startled to hear that the rehearsal would be starting in five minutes, with or without latecomers.

 _Roy’s still not here!_ She began to panic, but could do nothing about it. Clenching her hands and touching her pistols absent-mindedly, she joined the other bridesmaids and waited her turn to walk down the aisle. She was growing more annoyed than worried by the time Winry was walking down the aisle, Pinako at her side, and Riza silently cursed Roy. Maria noticed her discomfort and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, “He’ll show up, Lieutenant Colonel. Don’t worry.” Riza gave her a tight smile and said nothing, returning her gaze to the couple at the altar. She huffed inwardly, exasperated.

The ceremony rehearsal didn’t take long and the wedding party moved to another room for the dinner. Winry’s bridesmaids and Ed’s groomsmen had been seated at a long elevated table at the front of the hall as they would be during the actual reception, and the other guests situated themselves at circular tables scattered throughout the room. At that time, halfway through dinner, the General finally decided to show up.  

The large doors to the banquet hall squeaked open to reveal Roy, in full ceremonial uniform with his cap tucked under his arm, slightly out of breath. All military personnel stopped what they were doing and shot to their feet, saluting sharply, some with faces of disbelief. _A **full** General was here?_ Roy gave a small smirk and sauntered towards the elevated table, heels clicking on the wooden floor.

“At ease, officers,” he said, but didn’t take his eyes off of the table he was making for. When she had noticed Roy’s arrival, Riza had knocked over her chair in the process of standing up and saluting, but didn’t dare to break her salute to right it. She felt her face go hot, but didn’t take her eyes off of her commanding officer as he made his way towards her table. _Finally_.

“As you were, men,” Roy said sharply, noticing that though they had dropped their salutes, they still held their “at ease” positions with their hands behind their backs and legs shoulder-width apart. The chatter dropped volume considerably after Roy’s arrival.

“Sorry I’m late, Fullmetal. Train complications,” Roy said to Ed, bowing slightly to Winry. “And riding a horse for thirty miles is a little hard on my ass,” he said, a hand on his lower back.

“Gahhh Mustang! You could have at least called to let us know,” Ed pointed a finger accusingly at him, ponytail flipping over his shoulder. “We had to start fifteen minutes late because we were waiting for _you_!”

Roy shrugged. “Can’t help it, Fullmetal. I got here as quickly as I could. I’ll make it up to you later,” he cleared his throat. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must apologize to the Lieutenant Colonel.”

Ed and Winry shared a knowing grin. “Sure thing Mustang. Just try not to get anything…shot off.”

Riza stood up to salute again as Roy turned towards her, but he stopped her saying, “Enough of that. God, you know how many times I was stopped just for another salute yesterday? Damn ambitious cadets.”

She frowned. “Edward was right though, sir. You could have at least called to let us know. To let _me_ know.” She added a little more quietly.

“I really am sorry, Hawkeye. Hopefully next time will be better,” he placed his cap on the table.

“Sir, I don’t think there will _be_ a next time,” Riza’s lips twitched in a ghost of a smile, but Roy couldn’t be sure.   

“Alright, Hawkeye. Next time you may stay with me, regardless of whether you’re a flower girl or not,” the General sat down next to her and removed his blank gloves.

“Bridesmaid, sir,” Riza corrected, “Though I’ve made sure that next time you’re to be made one too. Edward mentioned that you’d look fetching in a mini-skirt.”

And when Roy laughed out loud, earning looks from everyone nearby, she laughed along with him, all formalities forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters are about to pick up a little bit, especially in Chapter VII. I'm still editing a bit, but I will post them as soon as they are ready!


	5. The Night Before

The rest of the dinner passed without any more interruptions, and after the wedding party had been ushered out of the banquet hall by attendants to their waiting cars, many officers took this opportunity to cautiously approach the General. Roy waited patiently for each one to finish stating his or her rank, name, and home command center before shaking hands and moving on. Riza was always a step and a half behind him to his left, covering his non-dominant side, never saying a word, with a slight frown. And when the introductions were done, Roy met with Edward and Winry again to go over what he missed.

"I think I've got it Fullmetal. Walk down the aisle, look pretty, and try not to trip. I'll be on my best behavior," Roy snickered.

"You'd better," Winry said, one eyebrow jerking up. "Or you'll feel the wrench too."

Ed laughed and slapped Roy's back. "Now go back to your hotel room and get some rest. We're starting tomorrow at one in the afternoon. Unless you want to ride your…horse–" he looked over his shoulder at the ginger-colored mare tied to a nearby post, "–wake up on time for once, Col–, ahhh, excuse me,  _General_ ," Ed smirked back and took Winry's hand.

"I'll make sure  _the General_  is up on time Ed," Riza assured him. "Have a good night. Oh, and Winry, I'll be around earlier to help you get ready."

"We'll be waiting," Winry smiled, and turned towards their car, taking Ed with her. "Have a good night!"

Roy and Riza mingled around the remaining guests (Riza had to firmly remind Armstrong that the General did  _not_  wish to be manhandled) for a few moments before meeting up with the rest of the team to leave for their hotel. Since one vehicle was definitely not enough for seven people, they split into two cars. While deciding who would be going in what car, both Riza and Roy were shoved roughly in the direction of one. Riza regained her balance and glared at the group behind her, but no one looked like they were up to confessing. In fact, both Havoc and his wife were off to a side talking with each other loudly, and Breda, Falman, and Fuery were making their way to the other car. Roy was scowling when she turned to face him.

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't know what happened," Riza said a little uncomfortably. "But as Fuery, Breda, and Falman have already appropriated the other car, why don't we share this one with the Havocs?"

Roy nodded, still frowning at the incident. He moved to the passenger side and seated himself. "Havoc," he growled, "I do not appreciate being dumped onto the ground," he said, rubbing his back, "Quit flirting with your wife and get your ass in the car now."

"Geez, chief. Don't get your silky panties in a bunch!" Havoc grunted back. But he got in the car anyway, Rebecca following him.

* * *

The ride was unusually quiet. Riza could see the other car trailing behind them in the dark in her mirror, and wondered if Breda and Falman and Fuery were equally so. She doubted it.

When they arrived at their hotel, each went to his or her own room after quietly saying goodnight to each other, and made for bed. Once he had left and far away enough not to overhear, Breda and Havoc snickered at their commanding officer's back and high-fived each other, glints in their eyes.

But once Riza was inside her room and had locked her door, she knew right away that her night wasn't about to get easier. Roy was right there. She knitted her eyebrows together at her mind's betrayal and tried not to think about her superior. Sleeping. Showering. Undressing. _My God!_  She'd never allowed those thoughts to get any further than  _napping_  beforehand, but now, without other high-ranking officers breathing down her back about fraternizing, she conceded guiltily.

She sat down on the chaise lounge, head in her hands. _Can I last the rest of the week without saying something?_

 _You're going to have to._ Another voice sounded in her head. _You've managed for more than twenty years. Why not another week?_

 _Because I don't want to!_ She screamed at herself. I _don't want this anymore. I have to let him know sometime._ She suddenly straightened up. I _'ll let him know how I feel tomorrow. At the reception_.  _That's a good time, right?_

 _You're deluding yourself, dear. Roy Mustang would never choose to love a woman like you._  The voice sounded smug.

 _That's right._ Riza smiled.  _He would never choose to love me. He may have fallen for me without his own consent._  And her smile grew bigger.

But it dropped again when she thought of his goal. Just how long could she wait?

Hanging up her dress uniform and kicking off her heels, she wrapped herself in a robe and was about to head for the shower when a knock sounded on her door. The one joining her room to Roy's, she noted wryly.  _Just my luck._ She pulled the wooden door open, sighing slightly.

Roy was standing there, top buttons of his dress shirt undone and still in his uniform pants, though his feet were bare. "Ah, sorry Hawkeye," he said, suddenly aware of her state of dress. "I just wanted to make sure the room next door was actually yours instead of er, well, you know…" he trailed off.

"Yes sir. I deliberately requested to have my room adjoined to yours. Havoc and Rebecca are on the other side of your room, sir. I'm anticipating no murder attempts but you can never be too careful," Riza said, mentioning their usual rooming protocol. Roy's room would always be in between hers and another officer's, never on the outside, as would-be assassins might decide to break through the walls. "Is there anything else you need sir?" she asked a little timidly. Her brain was hurting from swirling emotions all shooting through her at once, and her heart was beating just a little too fast.  _Get a grip!_

Roy looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, eyes never leaving her face to respect her modesty, then shook his head. "No, Hawkeye, I guess not. If I have any more requests, I'll try to keep them before midnight." He made to close the joining door, hand gripping the wood tightly.

"Wait." Riza said, before she caught herself. Her eyes widened as he stopped and turned back toward her, looking at her expectantly.

"Um, never mind, sir, it's not important," she said a little dejectedly. "Have a good night, sir."

Roy stared at her, eyes flashing for just a moment, before he nodded and closed the door.

 _Idiot!_ Riza berated herself. At the same time, she mourned over the opportunity that had passed so fleetingly.  _Why didn't I say anything?_

"I can't believe this," she said aloud to herself. Acting like a teenager when there's work to be done.  _Is this what it feels like to be so anxious about someone else?_

* * *

 _Is this what it feels like?_ Roy demanded of himself after he had shut the door.  _To be so incompetent toward someone who means the world to me?_ He popped the rest of the buttons of his shirt off, letting it fall to the ground. His ceremonial jacket lay where he had also dropped it, ribbons and medals scattered on top. I _can rebuild Ishval, but can't even tell the person I care for the most that I love her. Some "hero" I am._ He pulled out some thin sleepwear and dressed.

_Tomorrow I'll tell her._

* * *

Next door, Havoc and his wife were in the process of getting ready for bed. Well, almost. They had settled on the divan and were snuggling under a thick blanket. For once, he wasn't smoking.

"You'd better watch it, Jean," Rebecca warned, indicating the little shoving episode that happened outside the banquet hall. "Mustang and Riza are going to eat you and Breda alive if anything else like that happens again. I'm surprised Riza didn't say anything about it."

"Maybe she was just waiting for it to happen, Bec," Havoc groaned, "It's not like they're gonna get anything done without our help. You know…anything done."

"You're impossible," Rebecca slapped him slightly on his arm.

"But you love me for it," Havoc grinned back. "And you'd do anything to get your best friend her happy ending because she quote unquote 'deserves it.'"

"You don't know how many times I've seen the two of them walking in the halls and I've caught her staring at his back like she wants to bed him," Rebecca groused. "It almost makes me feel dirty."

"And you don't know how many times I've seen him ogle her behind when he thinks no one is looking," Havoc griped. "Ah whatever. We should just let them figure it out on their own."

His wife frowned and got up from her place on the couch. "You know if we didn't push them, they'd both be ancient before they decided it was the right time. Besides, Riza's almost thirty–three. I expected her to at least be married when she hit twenty-five."

"You know Riza would never marry anyone else but him," Havoc pointed out. "They've been together since before I was placed under Mustang, and that was almost nine years ago. And every time Riza's been ordered out from under him, she'd show up a day later and say that 'everything's been taken care of, sir.'" He tried to mimic Riza in a high-pitched squeal.

"I know Jean! I'd just hoped that she would have moved on by now. But every time I see her and talk with her, nothing changes. I'm pretty sure she's been in love with him for years now."

Havoc swore. "I know, Bec. I know. Let's just make sure they don't blow up at each other with all this…sexual tension. You know how Mustang gets. Can't hold his temper," Havoc shook his head. "Let's get to bed, Bec. Long day tomorrow." He yawned.

"Both of them are going to be grumpy tomorrow after your and Breda's little stunt, Havoc," Rebecca retorted back, "So if they blow up at each other, just know you lit the fuse."

"We'll just let Ed and Winry deal with them. Both of them freak me out when they get irritable," Havoc grinned back and pulled his wife down toward the bed with him, enveloping her in a sensual hug.

* * *

Most of the occupants in the Rockbell family home were still up. Pinako had gone to bed, but Winry and both Elric brothers were still in the kitchen, each nursing a cup of tea.

"Sorry you can't be with May tonight Al," Ed nudged his younger brother.

"Eh, it's alright. She's staying with Ling's retinue so she'll be fine. I'll see her tomorrow," Al sipped his tea quietly, bangs hanging over his face.

"Proposing any time soon?" Winry giggled.

Al went slightly red and his grip on his cup tightened, but answered, "Erm, well, uh, not yet. I'm not even twenty yet, brother! And May…! She barely turned eighteen!" Al spluttered, trying not to spill tea. "I mean, we want to, but I just don't think we're old enough."

But Ed just laughed. "We were just kidding around. A little bit. Everyone knows you guys are gonna get hitched, it's just a matter of when." He sipped the rest of tea and set down his mug. "Like Mustang and Hawkeye."

Winry bit her lip. "I wouldn't be so sure, Ed. The General doesn't really seem like the type to settle down so quickly."

"Nah. He's been like that since forever. And Hawkeye, well, Hawkeye's always been the way she is for forever too. They'd die for each other without even thinking about it," he added quietly, remembering the Promised Day.

Winry was silent. Then, "Do you think they're already together?" she asked hesitantly.

Both brothers' eyes widened.

"No! They'd never–"

"They would tell us if–"

"I'm just saying. What if they already are?" Winry asked again, flicking her blond hair out of her eyes. "I mean, when are they ever apart? You said they almost always take leave together. And you said she went with him to Ishval after the Promised Day and was with him for the _full three years_ of the Restoration. She refused to leave him!"

"But, but that's just Hawkeye!" Ed stumbled over his words. "She's always been like that, Win! They knew each other when they were kids! Like us!" he fumbled for an excuse. He would not think of his superiors hiding a marriage like that for at least ten years.  _It's not possible._

"We knew each other when we were kids! And I didn't follow you all the way to Central and wherever the hell you guys went trying to look for the Philosopher's Stone." Winry huffed. "All I'm saying is that they're rather close to each other, especially when they're in the military. I'm sure Riza wouldn't keep that a secret anyway. She has more honor than that."

Al sighed. "Winry has a point, Ed. They are rather close to each other. I guess they could be, I don't know, maybe, promised to each other?" he looked at Ed. "You know, kind of like you and Winry were for a few years?"

"You mean engaged, Al? I dunno, they could be, but Hawkeye doesn't have a ring, and the higher ups would definitely have found out by now," Ed shrugged. "I'm pretty sure they aren't anything. Anyway, we should get to bed. We're getting married tomorrow," he grinned at his fiancée.

"That we are. But you're sleeping with Al tonight, dear," Winry shoved him back. "Sorry," she didn't sound too sorry, but she pulled Ed down for a kiss anyway. "Tomorrow night however–"

"–will  _definitely_  be much more fun." Ed finished playfully.

"Ugh, you guys are gross," Al made a face. "May and I are never gonna be like that."

* * *

Riza had finished her shower and was trying to read. A stupid idea. Her mind couldn't piece together any of the words in the novel because it was too distracted. It wasn't her fault. It was his fault. His fault that he was still next door. His fault that he had looked so distractingly beautiful when he came to the door to ask her for a spare blanket. His fault that she couldn't look him in the eye when she handed it to him. His fault that she was in love with him.

She was  _in love_  with him.  _Good Lord._

She tossed aside the book and flopped onto the bed, flicking off the lamp.  _Fine! I admit it. I'm in love with him._

 _Finally_. The voice in her head was back.  _A confession._ And it was still smug.

 _Why now? Couldn't it have waited until after this week?_ She thought bitterly.

_Why did you let it wait this long?_

_I_ _didn't! I couldn't! We were so busy. We're still so busy. There's no time. There's no time. There's no time. There's no time…_ She repeated to herself.

_You're lying to yourself._

_I have to!_

_You want what Edward and Winry have._

Riza stared into the dark. Did she want what they have? Of course she did. An out-in-the-open relationship. No hiding phone calls, no code names, no whispering, no rumors.  _It's not possible._ But her mind was already fantasizing about the possibility. Showing off a wedding ring, going home with him, having a  _baby_  with him.  _No no no!_ But her imagination didn't listen.

By the time Ed and Winry reached her age, they'd no doubt have multiple children, be completely happy, without worrying about the futures of anyone else but their own. They'd live the perfect life. Would she get that? She'd already told Ed years ago that it was impossible for her to live such a carefree life. She and Roy had dedicated the rest of their lives to make sure everyone else's would be alright. Her conscience told her that no, she wouldn't get that, she didn't deserve to. But her heart told her yes. Yes, she would. Eventually. She was still hopeful. But was it wise to be hopeful? When she looked down her future's path, she couldn't see where it ended. In an early death? Defending Roy from a murderer? Forever at his side, even while he sat in the Fuhrer's office? She pushed those thoughts out. She wasn't really sure what made sense anymore. Her mind was rambling with contradicting thoughts and she felt angry with herself.  _Why couldn't she sort this out? She was **Riza Hawkeye** , for God's sake, the woman, military officer, bodyguard, with all the answers._

She turned over and pulled the sheets up closer to her face. Small, hot tears trailed down her face and into the pillow. Her chest hurt and her head hurt. Everything hurt. And nothing made sense.

_Is this what it's like to be in love?_

If this was what it felt like, she wasn't sure she wanted it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trying to make this chapter a little "angsty" without it being too much, but I'm not exactly sure it came out the way I wanted. But anyway, repeating what I mentioned last chapter and just to keep you informed, it's going to start getting a little more serious. Still fun though! :) Thank you again for reading!


	6. The Wedding

Riza awoke, feeling suddenly refreshed. The clock read 0613. She kicked off the sheets and sat up, brushing her hair out of her face.  _I feel a lot better than l did last night_. Maybe she had just been exhausted last night, worrying about Roy even showing up to the rehearsal, and then those weird thoughts and feelings late last night.  _Definitely stress_  she thought to herself, humming quietly while making the bed.  _No more crazy ideas_.

Passing the adjoining door, she stopped as she heard slight thumps and heavy breathing from Roy's room. She quirked her mouth into a small smile, and moved on to the bathroom. As she was getting ready for the day, Riza recalled the first time she and Roy had received adjoined hotel rooms. She had woken around five in the morning to a loud  _thump_ , grunts, and a scraping sound from her superior officer's room. Fearing the worst, she had broken down the door with the butt of her rifle and was ready to squeeze the trigger, only to find that he had pushed the bed off to the side and was doing pushups, shirtless, on the floor. Needless to say, she had been extremely surprised, which had then quickly melted to embarrassment. She had squeaked out a hasty apology for interrupting, and had tried to scurry back to her own room, but he'd stopped her and apologized to her instead, looking a little embarrassed himself. "I usually do a small workout every morning, since that's the only time I actually have…time," he had explained. "I should have told you last night," he had said sheepishly.

That had been over twelve years ago. Riza knew better now, and though she was used to hearing Roy doing his pushups in the early mornings, she still couldn't shake the feeling of danger every time she heard his labored breathing. Ever since the Promised Day. She closed her eyes and could only hear his heavy and painful breathing as he sent blazing inferno after blazing inferno toward Father. After Ed had destroyed the homunculus, they had been walking to a medical tent and Roy had passed out, falling from her arms. She had been so deathly afraid in that moment.

But Roy hadn't died, obviously, so there was nothing to worry about.  _Nothing to worry about_  she thought happily to herself.  _But maybe I should check on him just in case._

She made sure she was decently dressed (not for the wedding of course, it was  _way_  too early to be in a dress) before knocking on the adjoining door, listening intently. The heavy breathing stopped, and she pulled her ear away from the wood. Roy opened the door, panting slightly, and her gaze was drawn to the gleaming metal of his dog tags resting on the center of his chest. She knew the etched numbers by heart.

"Yes, Lieu–, ah, Colonel? Lieutenant Colonel?" he asked, short of breath.

Riza clasped her hands in front of her, "Just checking that you were awake, sir. I did promise Edward."

Roy nodded. "I remember. When are we leaving? I seem to have, er, forgotten."

"The wedding starts at one, sir. I told Winry I'd help her get ready though. I'd like to be at the house before 1100, sir, if you don't mind. We'd be leaving here around 1015 hours. You can leave with Havoc and Breda later though if you'd like," she said.

"No, no, 1015 is fine, Hawkeye," he wiped some moisture from his forehead, "I'll be ready at 1000 then."

"Sir." Riza acknowledged and made to close the door, but not before quickly flicking her eyes down his chest.  _Did I really just do that?!_  She shut the door quickly, trying not to slam it.

 _But see? He's fine_. She reassured herself and settled into the chaise lounge to try and finish her novel.

* * *

Once the clock ticked at 0930, she jumped up and rushed to the closet, pulling out the bridesmaid dress. Grinning wildly to herself, she undressed and slid the smooth material on. Clasping the thin strap behind her neck, she looked at herself in the mirror, pinning her hair up in her usual style, and hiding her dog tags underneath the neckline.  _Today I am beautiful_.

Forgoing makeup, she stepped into her modest heels and neatly folded up her reception gown into a day bag.  _I wonder if Roy's getting ready now too._  She thought while absentmindedly strapping on her thigh holster, checking again to make sure it was fully loaded. Once she was sure she was ready, she locked her room and knocked hard on Roy's door.

He answered after a few moments, shirt unbuttoned and tie undone around his neck. "Hawkeye," he nodded, pulling on his vest. "I'm almost ready," he rolled his eyes, "Had some trouble with some…things."

"Would you like me to wait outside, sir? I'm a bit early, anyway," she asked, a little hesitantly. "Er, I'll just be i–"

"Why don't you come in?" he interrupted a little roughly. "I'll just be a moment."

Riza stared at him. He was inviting her  _in_?  _He's breaking the rules!_  A lower ranking officer was never allowed in the office, room, quarters, or house of a superior officer… _unless invited_  she admitted grudgingly.

 _But he's in a suit!_ She felt a bit giddy, and then suddenly stopped herself.  _No. Act your age._

_But he's in a_ _**suit** _ _!_

_Oh yeah? And how many times have you seen the man in a suit?_

_I haven't seen him in_ _**this** _ _particular one._

_What's the difference?_

_He looks so attractive. So sophisticated. So–_

_STOP IT RIGHT THERE. What's the matter with you? You've seen tons of men in dress clothes. What's the difference with this one? Is it that time of month?_

_I, no! I mean–_

_Pay attention to what you're doing. WHAT are you doing?_

While Riza's thoughts battled with each other (was she going crazy? Arguing with herself? Really?), she had absentmindedly reached outward to Roy. His back was to her, so he didn't notice her hand that had almost grabbed the back of his shirt. She immediately snatched it back.

"I, uh, erm, of course, sir."

Roy was oblivious; he buttoned the rest of his shirt and vest, and knotted his tie. "I already called the rest of the team to let them know I'd be going with you earlier," he mentioned, pulling on his suit jacket, snapping the shoulders tightly. Riza noted the silk lapels.  _Sophisticated._ He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "Hold on a moment, Hawkeye," he said, and disappeared into the bathroom.

She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall.  _Today I am beautiful_  she said a little more firmly.

When Roy reappeared again, his hair had been slicked back neatly and a hand was in his pocket. "You have spares right?" he asked quietly.

Riza opened her small purse to show him that she did. His spare ignition cloth gloves lay inside. " _You_ have spares right?" she challenged back. "I can't hide anything in this dress." She didn't mention the pistol on her leg but Roy always knew about that one. "Even ammo."

Roy smirked and gave her a modest once-over. "Damn right."

"Sir!" she frowned but let it go, feeling her face blush.

He opened his jacket and she spied the double holsters resting underneath his arms, each carrying a .45 caliber pistol. "They're both fully loaded, Hawkeye. Satisfied?" he buttoned his jacket back again.

"The .50, sir?"

Roy sighed and turned around. "You're hard to please, Hawkeye. Go ahead."

She lifted the tail of his jacket to reveal the waistline of his dress pants. At the small of his back attached to his belt, another holster held the .50 caliber pistol she had asked for. She pulled it out and tested its weight. Good. It was fully loaded as well. Though their team knew exactly how many handguns Riza would have on her during normal fieldwork and missions, they couldn't exactly expect her to carry them on her while she was in a dress. They had all agreed to carry extra protection on them during the times she would be unable to carry her usual weapons, and since she would be with Roy most of the time anyway, he would be responsible for carrying hers. They couldn't let their guard down, even if this was a wedding.  _As Xingese royalty, Ling, Lan Fan, and May depend on it_  she reminded herself.  _And Roy_.

After returning the pistol to its holster, she stepped back and said, "Are you ready then, sir?"

"Let's go, Hawkeye."

* * *

Once they arrived at the Rockbell house, Riza immediately rushed upstairs to assist Winry with the rest of the bridesmaids. "You look beautiful, Winry," she beamed. "Your dress looks amazing."

"Thanks, Riza. Gracia helped me get into it. It's so freaking heavy!" Winry exclaimed, almost falling off the stool she was on.

At the mention of her name, Gracia looked up from helping her daughter tie the bow on her dress. "Hi Riza. You look lovely." She stood up and looked around. "Where's Rebecca?"

"She'll be here soon with the rest of the team. Roy, ah, the General, and I came over earlier than everyone else so I could help Winry," she finished quickly. "Anyway, I noticed Winry was almost done. Was that your doing?"

If Gracia noticed Riza's slipup, she didn't say anything. "Yes. She had gotten up really early this morning and demanded to start getting ready. She was really eager," Gracia laughed lightly. "at six this morning."

Riza smiled, remembering her own morning. "I guess there's not really much else I can do here. Can I help set up? It's only 1115."

"We set up early this morning too. I think both Ed and Al were worried we wouldn't start on time."

"Oh." Riza didn't know what else to say. "Okay then."

"Don't worry! They'll be plenty more opportunities to help out later. Especially after the reception," Gracia noted. "Tell me about yourself and what you're doing these days. We've got plenty of time before we have to start. May's helping Winry out right now anyway."

Downstairs, Riza could hear Roy talking with Al, and possibly Ling? She hadn't seen the Emperor arrive but he had a way of popping up unnoticed.

As she and Gracia talked, Gracia sensed that Riza was apprehensive about something. She would tense at random points in their conversations and her eyes would flicker to the door every so often. Her hands were clasped so tightly in her lap that the knuckles were turning white. Gracia took her clenched hands in her own. "Whatever it is Riza, it'll be fine. Just relax and enjoy yourself today," she gave her friend a reassuring smile.

Riza snapped her head up and opened her mouth, staring slightly. "Gracia, I, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you worried. Just thinking about something." She tried to pull away but the other woman's hands held firm on her own.

"Listen to me, Riza. Remember what I told you two years ago when you were in Ishval? 'Don't be afraid.' Remember?"

Riza nodded. There had been some rough times while she and Roy had been in Ishval during the Restoration, and she had called Gracia for some advice. She didn't want to relive that painful conversation again, but she conceded, knowing it would come anyway. "I know, Gracia. But what if I can't? What if I can't  _not_  be afraid? I've been at his back for so long, watching him from behind. Why can't I see him from the front for once? Why can't I face him?" Riza said, almost a bit desperately. She was disappointed in herself. Why was she acting like this?

Gracia smiled sadly at her friend. "Then perhaps it's time to ask yourself what  _you_  really want. And then  _pursue_  it, Riza. Don't play this game with yourself. You'll only end up hurting yourself and him. Try and forget about the future. Think about the  _now_."

Riza was silent.  _But I don't even know what I really want_. "But what if he doesn't–"

"He  _does_ , Riza," Gracia interrupted. "My husband was never wrong," she said firmly.

"Mama! Miss Winry said I looked pretty!" Elysia exclaimed excitedly to her mother from the other side of the room.

"And you _are_  Elysia," Gracia told her daughter. "You do look pretty, your father would be so proud."

"How old is she now?" Riza asked, determined to steer Gracia from their previous conversation.

"Eight years old. She'll be nine soon," Gracia smiled at her little girl.

"The Brigadier General would be very proud, Mrs. Hughes," Roy's voice came from the doorway.

Riza jumped up, but Roy had already raised a hand. "Not today Hawkeye."

"We're just about ready, Mrs. Hughes," Al said behind Roy. Ed's out in the garden," he grinned.

"All right. Round up the guests," Gracia stood up and went over to Winry. "We're ready, dear."

Winry adjusted her veil and Gracia handed her a bouquet with an assortment of white and pink flowers in it. "Thank you Gracia. Wait until Ed gets a load of this!"

Riza and Paninya helped Winry down the stairs while May gathered up the train of her gown. Rebecca was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, holding Winry's heels.

"That's where those went!" Winry snorted. "Ed must've hidden those from me. Said they were death traps." She stepped into them carefully and smoothed down the beaded front of her gown. "I'm getting married today."

"You are getting married today," May said wistfully. "Just don't forget to breathe!" She and Paninya giggled.

"You'll do fine, Winry. Now, let's get this wedding started."

* * *

Roy had taken a seat at the end of a middle row and was waiting patiently for the wedding to begin with the other guests. His hands were covered in blank gloves for the occasion, but he noticed out of the corner of his eye that a few officers around him were glancing warily at his hands. He was just about to say something to them about it when Edward walked up to him.

"Shouldn't you be at the front, Fullmetal?" Roy said flatly, staring straight ahead. The arbor had been magnificently decorated with flowers and greens suited for a springtime occasion, and the outside air was crisp.

"Shut up, Mustang. I know where I'm supposed to be. I came to ask you a favor," Ed looked at him. When Roy wasn't forthcoming with a response, he went on. "I know both sets of parents are supposed to be at the altar with us, but as all four of our parents are…dead, Granny Pinako is taking Winry's parents' place." He paused again. Roy still didn't answer. "What I'm trying to ask is, er, will you take my parents' place at the altar?" He rushed a bit at the end and rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean, you don't have–"

Roy raised a gloved hand. "Stop right there Fullmetal. You're asking me to take the place of your  _parents_?" He raised an eyebrow, taken aback at the request.

"I already talked to Al and he said it was–"

"Stop rambling, Fullmetal. Answer the damn question."

"Um, yes." Ed chuckled nervously. "Yes. I do." He said with a little more conviction.

Roy was silent.  _This kid is unbelievable_. He continued to stare straight ahead.  _I'm nowhere near his parents! God, Maes. You were right about one thing. Kids will definitely be the death of me._

"I, yes, Fullmetal. I will." He said at length before standing up. He straightened his coat and instinctively reached into the pockets to feel for his arrayed gloves.

Ed gaped at him for a minute before regaining his speech. "Er, thanks, Mustang. You're the closest thing to a parent that I,  _we_ , have. You and Hawkeye." Ed gave him a genuine smile and walked him up to the front of the assembly. Al was already there, standing patiently.

"Thank you, sir," Al said. "It really means a lot to us. Our parents would be here if they could…"

Roy nodded, understanding, and placed a calm hand on Al's shoulder. He'd do the best he could but his head was still reeling at the strange request. When was the last time he'd been compared to being a parent?  _By Hughes after holding Elysia for the first time. Damn bastard. Look what you've done to me. Made me go soft._ He didn't have any more time to reminisce as he was soon interrupted.

Soft, enchanting music began playing and the congregation fell silent. Winry's bridesmaids made their way (a bit too slowly, Roy noted impatiently) down the wide aisle, followed by important guests. Ed and Winry had wanted to honor Ling and Lan Fan, as well as Sig and Izumi Curtis. Roy noticed that Izumi still held her head proudly, but now her step had a pronounced limp and made her advance almost sluggish. Hohenheim may have done what he could to fix her insides, but the pain must have still afflicted her.  _It's too bad,_  Roy contemplated,  _she's an excellent alchemist_.

Elysia stepped proudly down the aisle, carefully tossing rose petals from a small basket. Gracia looked every bit the proud mother, beaming, no doubt thinking that Maes wouldn't be able to keep quiet if he had been there. And when it was finally Winry's turn, the guests all turned to see her floating on Pinako's arm, dress flowing behind her. She was glowing. Roy snuck a look over at Riza on the other side of the altar. She had a peaceful look on her face, a look that was rare, even nowadays.  _She should smile more often._  He hadn't dared to compliment her on her dress yet,  _I will after this blasted ceremony_ , but she looked absolutely stunning. Riza in a dress was an extraordinary sight indeed, and though he didn't much like the color on her,  _too pale_ , or the style of the dress,  _maybe a little longer than knee-length_ , he let himself gaze a little longer at her than was necessary. By this time, Pinako had handed Winry off to Ed, and Riza had caught her commanding officer ogling her. She narrowed her eyes at him and he snapped his head toward the couple at the altar, face hot.

Roy barely heard the priest say anything for the rest of the ceremony. He vaguely heard Ed and Winry's vows to each other and noticed the shining rings they placed on each others' fingers, but his mind had apparently decided that that it wouldn't pay attention. He did as he was told: kneeled when everyone else did, smiled at Ed and Winry, escorted Pinako down the aisle as Ed had instructed him to do when the ceremony ended, and shook hands with everyone else. His head was full of Riza. Riza.  _Riza._

"–sorry, what?" he heard a question directed at him but had been too distracted to catch its contents.

"Are you feeling well, sir?" Riza stood rather close to him, at his back on his left side,  _always behind me_  he thought bitterly. She looked worried. "Your face is a little flushed."

"Oh, Hawkeye. Er, yes, I'm fine. Just a bit hot in this suit," he rushed out, relieved at his believable excuse, and tugged off his gloves.

"Ed and Winry have requested a picture with the both of us, sir."

He stared at her, trying not to eye her dress. "Uh, yes, of course. Right now?"

"Are you sure you're feeling alright, sir? You looked uncomfortable during the ceremony. Rebecca said you sounded a bit sick this morning on the phone."

"Catalina, that witch," Roy muttered under his breath. "I'm  _fine_ , Lieutenant Colonel. I'm not sick at all. I'm perfectly healthy. And enough with the 'sir,' Hawkeye. Not here."

"Yes… _General_ ," Riza retorted. "Ed and Winry are waiting."

Roy sighed, but followed her to the altar again. "Watch it, Hawkeye," he growled, low enough so only she could hear, as they passed mingling guests.

"Then act accordingly,  _Mustang_. At least for Ed and Winry's sake," she rebuked him, surprised at the acidity in her voice. Shaking her head, she swiveled her focus to the Emperor and Empress, looking for their ever-present bodyguards. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Roy narrowing his eyes at the royal couple, no doubt doing the same thing she was.  _Even here we're still working._ Satisfied with Ling's security, she walked quickly to Ed and Winry.

"Stand on either side of them," the photographer motioned Roy and Riza over to the newlyweds standing under the flowering arch. "Smile!" And the camera snapped.

"I haven't told you that you look gorgeous, Winry," Riza whispered, leaning her head slightly toward her.

"Oh hush! You did this morning," Winry whispered back through her teeth. The camera snapped again. "You also look fantastic," she dropped her smile after the last picture. "Has the General said anything…interesting?" she winked.

Riza was a bit surprised, but decided to ignore it. She shook her head. "Shall we head over to the reception now?"

"Not so fast, Hawkeye! You and Mustang have to take a picture with each other," Ed caught her elbow as she was turning away. "Winry and I  _insist_."

Riza felt her face go pink and tried to brush him off. "Ah, no thank you Edward, perhaps at the reception?"

"But the photographer is already here Riza! It'll take the whole night to develop the photos if you guys wait until tonight to take them! Come on, just  _one_  picture?" Winry weedled.

Roy held up a hand. "Just  _one_. But the  _Lieutenant Colonel_  and I must meet with the rest of our team before the reception to go over security protocol for tonight. Just  _one_." He stepped toward Riza in front of the camera as Ed and Winry moved away.

Riza frowned slightly. Was he still bitter over their previous exchange? She had sounded a bit harsh, she admitted, but then again, they'd had much worse arguments than this.  _It wasn't even an argument!_ He would get over sooner or later. He always did. That man had a short temper anyway.

They stood next to each other, sort of, at an awkward distance, and waited for the camera to snap again. The photographer noticed their strange position, and motioned for them to move closer. They shuffled nearer, and right before the camera went off, Riza felt Roy's hand lightly curl around her waist. Her heart jumped and she scrambled to find breath. And before she knew what she was doing, she turned toward him and looked him in the eye, a hand raised to touch his face, her own beaming. His eyes widened for a split second as he registered her movements, but he suddenly relaxed and grinned back at her, eyes sparkling.

The camera clicked.

The sudden noise made both Roy and Riza jump away from each other, tender moment gone. Riza jerked back and Roy coughed uncomfortably, suddenly interested in the ground.

Ed and Winry had moved off to the side to talk with a few guests, but had noticed Riza and Roy's positions for the last picture. Winry nudged Ed and smirked. Ed snickered back. "Might be easier for  _Mommy and Daddy_  than we expected."

Roy headed straight to the back of the assembled rows of chairs right after he straightened himself out. He noticed Riza was trailing him ( _it's her_ _ **job**_  he reminded himself) and walked a little slower. "You look quite lovely, Hawkeye," he complimented her, once they reached the end of the chairs.

"Thank you, s–, ah Mustang," she corrected herself, choosing to use his surname.  _When was the last time she had used his_ _ **first**_ _name? When they were children?_  "Though I don't much like the color," she looked around for Winry, looking almost terrified. "I mean, it's beautiful for a wedding and all, but I don't think I would choose to wear this any other day."

Roy's mouth twitched and he leaned toward her. "I don't much like that color on you either. Much too pale," he whispered back.

Riza gave a small smile. "You look rather classy yourself..." She struggled not to repeat the formality she'd been used to addressing him with at all times.

"But I always do," Roy said a bit arrogantly, but with a playful tone in his voice.

Riza had to admit that yes, yes he almost always did. He could even make their formless military uniforms look well-cut, the damn good-looking jerk.  _Maybe it was the tall, dark and handsome cliché every woman looked for. Except Roy wasn't that particularly tall or dark. He was definitely handsome though. Definitely._

 _Shut up_ she scolded herself.  _Not now._

"Er, shall we go, Hawkeye? We need to meet with the team before the reception," Roy hadn't noticed the contemplative look on her face as she argued once again with herself.  _This definitely needs to stop._

"Yes, sir," she said instinctively, and stepped into a waiting car. Ed and Winry had quietly left for the reception a few minutes ago and most of the guests had followed them.

Her mind was playing with her.  _This day sucks._  She allowed herself a little self-pity as she sat in the car, riding to the reception. She kept silent for the entire duration of the ride, deciding to put on her usual stoic face, knowing that Roy would avoid making conversation with her if he saw it. It worked.

_Today I am beautiful._

* * *

The rest of the team met outside the banquet hall for their small meeting.

"Breda?" Roy asked.

"Negative, sir. Nothing to report," Breda had loosened his tie and his suit jacket hung over an arm.

"Falman?"

"Same, sir. Everything's in order," Falman said, back straight. He had taken his jacket off as well, and smoothed his graying hair back. "The Emperor's bodyguards are excellent as usual."

Roy nodded in acknowledgment. "Havoc?"

"No problems, chief. Though Becky noticed something a bit unusual while you and Hawkeye were taking your picture with each other," he tried to stifle a smirk, but failed miserably.

Roy scowled and moved on. "Fuery?"

"Nothing, sir. We're pretty confident no one's going to try and pull anything on the Emperor and his wife. They've got a pretty good security system by themselves," the youngest member of their unit gave a youthful grin.

"Excellent. We'll leave the reception after Ling does, just to make sure. Remember what we planned should the occasion arise. Act  _immediately_ ," Roy reminded them, making sure they remembered security breach protocol. "The Emperor's safety is our only concern at the moment. But enjoy yourselves at the party, anyhow. Any questions, come straight to me."

All four men saluted casually and headed into the ballroom. Rebecca took her husband's arm and grinned wickedly at Riza.  _I saw what you did. I told you what would happen._

Riza narrowed her eyes at her friend but followed behind Roy as he entered the large room and took her place at the raised table at the front.

_So what if she saw? From now on, I'll do this_ _**my** _ _way._

_But what_ _**is** _ _my way?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I promised, the next chapter will get a little more serious.
> 
> A quick warning though: If you are uncomfortable with 'M' ratings, please read at your own precaution and judgment.


	7. The Reception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is Chapter VII, which I've been leading up to for a while now. Thank you all for continuing to read!

Riza excused herself to the bathroom, and once in the privacy of a stall, she opened her day-bag and drew out the dark, almost midnight blue dress. She smiled at it, running her fingers down the material again. Quickly changing into it, she checked to make sure the thigh holster didn't show, and gave the skirt a shake, loosening any wrinkles. She smoothed down the bodice and walked proudly into the ballroom.

Roy noticed her immediately. She crossed over to his side and inclined her head slightly. "Mustang," she said, stoic face gone, but voice still stern.

"Hawkeye," he responded. "You…changed," he said a bit obtusely.

"Winry said I could bring a different dress to wear for the reception. I thought this would be a nice change from the pink I was wearing earlier," she paused, studying his face. "I saw it in the window of a shop and decided to purchase it."

Roy inspected her new dress, and after a few moments, gave her a smile. "I barely got to see you in the other one," he gestured, "but I think this one suits you better. You look rather elegant, Hawkeye."

Riza looked pleased with his answer. "Thank you, sir. Shall we sit?"

After everyone had settled into their places at the round tables, Alex Armstrong boomed out that it was time for the toasts, and Riza tried to listen intently. She knew Roy had declined making a toast earlier that day, and though she didn't know the reason why, she silently thanked whatever it was that made him abstain.

The Emperor himself decided to toast the newlywed couple, proclaiming that it was Ed who first "welcomed" him to Amestris, and that if it weren't for him, he'd still be the lowly twelfth prince of Xing. He congratulated the couple and wished them well in their future baby endeavors. Both Ed and Winry blushed and Al tugged Ling down before he could say more. Izumi Curtis and Dr. Tim Marcoh also made their own toasts, each boasting about Ed's alchemical skill and power and Winry's expert automail knowledge and craftsmanship. Both bride and groom were thoroughly flattered, and before everyone descended ravenously upon dinner, Ed took Winry's hand and passionately kissed her before the assembly.

Dinner was a quiet affair for Riza. She didn't speak to Roy during dinner (well, he  _was_  sitting two seats down from her, and speaking across Paninya would be  _so_  rude) and made conversation with May on her other side. She had been moved by the toasts from everyone, and though she didn't show it, had almost been reduced to tears. She watched Ed and Winry cut into their wedding pie (they had refused a cake and had opted instead for four of Gracia's scrumptious apple pies) and laughed when Winry smeared sticky apple filling over Ed's face. And she watched as Pinako danced a small waltz with her granddaughter before handing her to Edward; their first dance together as a married couple. Other couples soon joined them on the dance floor: Rebecca and Havoc, Denny and Maria, Al and May, Izumi and Sig, Gracia and Elysia, even Sheska and Fuery ( _had she missed something there?)_. She chanced a look at Roy (Paninya had left with a sharply dressed military officer) and saw that he was sitting alone, legs crossed with hands folded and dark eyes narrowed. He had removed his tuxedo bowtie and loosened the collar of his crisp, white shirt beneath his jacket. _He's so attractive_.

And then Winry approached him, alone, and asked him for a short dance. Riza saw him nod politely in response and he led her to the floor.

Riza wasn't jealous.  _Was she?_ She wasn't too fond of dancing anyway. And why would she be jealous of a happily married woman? Whatever her excuses, she still felt a few soft pangs of envy rush through her.

But Roy would ask her soon enough. He always did during other weddings, military balls, the Fuhrer's parties (she wondered if Grandfather made him ask her, though), and other formal occasions. All she had to do was wait. She watched the other couples dancing gracefully to the alluring music and soon she was invited to a dance by Jean Havoc. She saw Rebecca laughing and dancing with Armstrong, and grinned at her fellow officer.

"Where's the chief, Hawkeye?" Havoc snickered at her as they danced slowly across the floor. Though Havoc's legs had been healed, he'd been warned not to overexert them too much. "Better keep an eye out."

"Careful, Havoc. The General knows it was you who 'accidentally' spilled coffee all over his notes last week," Riza warned playfully.

Havoc's mouth dropped and he swore. "But I made sure to–, Breda! That bastard!" he scrunched up his face in disbelief.

"So it was you!" Riza laughed.

"I–, wait. You, y-you…! Hawkeye!"

"Careful, Havoc," Riza repeated, grinning. "Anything else you want to tell me?"

"You tricked me!" Havoc sighed. "Well, there goes my plan," he smiled at Riza, eyes shining. "That was last week though," he said, shrugging. "You  _have_  been keeping an eye on him though, right?"

"Who do you think I am?" Riza countered. "Of course I have."  _A bit too much lately_.

"Eh, alright. Just making sure," he said, laughing.

Their encounter ended there, as Denny Brosh cut in, and Havoc backed away, returning to Rebecca, who looked a bit winded. She made small talk with Denny, asking for details about his proposal to Maria Ross, and inquired when the wedding would be. She was surprised to hear it wasn't too far away, about a month from now, as he would be transferred to the South soon afterward. And then Alphonse cut in, asking her politely if she'd like to dance with him and as he was such a sweet kid, she couldn't say no. He hinted at a marriage between himself and May ( ** _why_** _in the world had everyone decided that_ _ **now**_ _was a great time to get married?_ ) but stated that he and May were still a bit too young to tie the knot just yet ( _oh._ ) and that perhaps in a few years Ling would give them his royal approval.

And then the blessed moment finally arrived. She saw Roy bow slightly to his partner, and make his way over to her and Al. Al noticed him approaching as well and stopped dancing. He gently placed Riza's hand in Roy's outstretched one and gave her a small, knowing smile. Roy nodded to the younger man and inclined his head to Riza. She dipped in a tiny curtsy (she wasn't  _that_  girly) and raised her eyes to his. She placed her hand on his shoulder lightly, and felt his hand hook around her back, almost the way it did during the picture earlier. He gave her a reassuring smile and led her through the dance steps. She reveled in his rough hands and tried not to lean into him too much.

They spoke no words. They never spoke while dancing with each other, as an implicit rule, and anyone who knew them both well enough knew that nothing needed to be said. They communicated to each other with eye motions, slight facial expressions, and small head gestures. Roy took this opportunity to get a better look at the dress she was wearing and felt the handguns on him get heavier.  _Had she always been this exquisite?_

 _Had he always looked so impressive?_  Riza allowed herself a smile and tightened the hand that rested on his shoulder.

_Has she always been so radiant?_

_Has he always been this captivating?_

_Yes._

_Yes._

* * *

Though they had been temporarily lost in each other, Riza crashed back into reality as she noticed Armstrong ambling slowly toward them. She flicked her eyes to his right.  _Armstrong at three o'clock, sir._

Roy's dark eyes slid to where hers were directed and steered her away toward the center of the floor, under the glistening chandelier. He inclined his head lightly.  _Thanks._

Riza and Roy shared one dance with each other, as was their custom. When the music ended the dance, they stepped away from each other and he held out his arm for her to take. Clasping it, she let him lead her to a small balcony on the outside of the banquet room. "Fuery and Breda have got our backs," he said quietly to her, "and Havoc and Falman are keeping an eye out for the Emperor. They've told me that he and his wife plan to leave soon."

She nodded in response. "Shall we wait to leave until after Edward and Winry have left? It is a bit late, sir."

"Perhaps," he said a bit wistfully, thoughts obviously elsewhere. He leaned on the railing, looking into the dark landscape. "Fullmetal said he wanted to speak with me before he and Winry left for their honeymoon tonight."

"Ah. Did he say where they were headed? Winry didn't tell me," Riza mused, and put her hands behind her back.

"They're actually leaving with Ling and his Empress for Xing tonight," he answered, frowning. "In the dark."

"I'm sure they'll be safe, sir. The Emperor's bodyguards are trained by the very best. They probably won't make the entire trip tonight, though. All of them aren't that stupid," she said stoutly.

"I'm not worried about any assassins, Hawkeye. The desert during this time of year is worse than usual. It's not even summer yet, but the winds are a bitch to get through and sandstorms are pretty common. It's easy to get lost." He turned to face her. "Fullmetal's still under my protection, whether he knows about it or not."

Riza sighed. Grandfather had taken Roy aside earlier that year and had told him that Edward would still be needed by the military, regardless of his absent alchemical ability, and that he was still placed under Roy's jurisdiction. Roy hadn't just moved back to Eastern to feel nostalgic and relive old days. He'd purposely chosen Eastern to watch over Ed and Al from a safe, but close, distance; he'd be right there if anything happened. But they'd known that Ed and Winry's honeymoon would take place somewhere exotic and he wouldn't be able to watch the brothers the whole time. Ed hardly went anywhere without his brother nowadays and though they'd be going with close friends and bodyguards, Riza detected Roy's uneasiness.

"They'll be fine, sir," Riza repeated. "Al and May still have their alchemy and alkahestry, and Ling and Lan Fan make the desert trip at least three times a year."

"Fullmetal and his wife have  _never_  made the crossing, Hawkeye," he sighed. "But I'm sure you're right. They're more than capable. Perhaps I'm just getting old." He took off his jacket and hung it over the railing.

"Only as old as you feel, sir."

"Then I'm well into my sixties already," he said wryly. "Anyway, we still have six days of leave. We planned our agenda up to Ling's departure, and that seems to be tonight. Any suggestions on what we should do?"

"No, sir," Riza bit her lip. "I hadn't planned on leaving Resembool after the wedding. Perhaps we should return to headquarters?"

"General Ranford agreed to the full nine days, I'm sure he'll be able to manage without us," Roy waved his hand. "I'd like to check up on Scar and Miles in Ishval while we're here. Save a trip."

"Of course sir," Riza smiled. Vacation in Ishval? She never thought she'd hear that.  _It's not really vacation_  she reminded herself.  _It's work_. "The weather should be more forgiving than the desert, at least."

When they had left Ishval under the direction of Lieutenant Colonel Miles a year ago, the region had been flourishing with the rebirth of the distinct culture and way of life. Though they hadn't exactly been welcomed warmly when they had first arrived to begin the Restoration, they had been given a hearty farewell from the city-state's inhabitants; most had forgiven both Riza and Roy. The Ishvalans believed in reconciliation before revenge (well, Scar aside) and had received them into their land after a few months of intense negotiating, and accepted their help. Knowing his alchemy had been one of the main causes of destruction, Roy had purposely left his arrayed gloves with Riza for safekeeping, with instructions to return them only after they had finished with the Restoration.

Within the first year of the Restoration, they had been given the titles  _Cataegidum_   _vindex_ and  _Praeses_   _amicula_ : Protector of Storms and the Lady Defender, by the Ishvalans for their efforts. The people were obviously pleased with the progress they were making and had started to look to Roy and Riza for leadership. Humbled and honored, Roy had been confused about his title and had asked politely why they had decided to call him that. "You are an alchemist, yes? You have much, ah,  _imperium_ , ah, what is the word,  _regnum_ , hm, 'prepollence,' in your government, and yet you have decided to use it not for yourself, but for our  _gentem_ , our people. A truly honorable and  _celsus_ deed," an elderly Ishvalan priest had told him. "That is why you are  _vindex_.  _Cataegidum_ , because of your name,  _Mustang_. In our culture, the horse is the most proud and powerful creature to walk our lands, and we believe that all creatures represent different natural phenomena. And what  _vis naturae_  is more powerful than a storm? That is why you are  _cataegidum_."

Eyes wide, Roy had bowed low to the priest in thanks for the explanation and for the bestowing of his new title. After that, they had only been called by their new names by the Ishvalans and had been treated as equals, walking the streets with locals, buying produce from stalls, and helping to clear out the rubble and remains from the Civil War. Out of respect for the people, Roy had ordered all military personnel not to wear the blue uniform, Riza and himself included. He had only been given a little bit of trouble when a disgruntled former military officer tracked him down and attempted to murder him. But the assassin had been ill-prepared and had only managed to slice through the thick cloth of Roy's clothes.

But the Restoration had been a complete success and after three years, Roy and Riza left what little had to be done to Miles and Scar (grudgingly) and returned to Central. Miles still sent reports on what was being done, and though both Roy and the Fuhrer were both pleased at the way he handled things, Roy wanted to make the journey at least one more time, if not to make sure Miles was actually telling the truth, then to visit the friends they had made there.

"It would only be for a day, Hawkeye," Roy said slowly, unsure if she really wanted to go back.

"As long as the rest of the team is up for it, sir," she answered. "But Havoc mentioned that he and Rebecca wanted to have some 'alone time' during their leave," she shook her head at the thought.

Roy made a face. "As long as I don't have to deal with the harpy, he can do whatever the hell he wants," he breathed. "Are you cold, Hawkeye?"

"Just a bit chilly, sir. Perhaps we should get back to the rest of the party," she nodded toward inside. "It looks like Ed and Winry are leaving now."

Roy rubbed the back of his head. "Finally. I'm exhausted."

They walked back into the warm ballroom, Riza on Roy's arm again. While he talked with Edward about whatever Ed wanted to tell him, she conversed with Winry and May about the honeymoon in Xing. She found out that yes, they would be making a stop in a city on the border of Amestris and the desert for tonight, and would continue into the desert early the next morning. Apparently, they would be staying with Ling and Lan Fan at the royal palace, but would be free to see the city sights and shows with Al and May, all with bodyguards of course. She curtseyed and said goodbye to the Emperor and Lan Fan, embracing the smaller woman warmly and wishing her well during the rest of her pregnancy. Lan Fan blushed, but thanked her kindly, saying she only had a few more months to go before the predicted birth date. Riza spotted one of Lan Fan's familiar kunai hidden in the folds of her gown, and smiled discreetly. Yes, Ed and Winry, and Al and May would definitely be safe during their long desert trek.

After goodbyes were said and done, the guests waved the three couples goodbye into the dark and wished them luck on their long journey through the desert, many laughing and crying. Others stayed outside the ballroom saying farewell to each other, or still talking about the day.

That was when Riza noticed, out of the corner of her eye, a small silver glint of something in the shadows near where many of the cars were parked. A small lamp perhaps? But it looked like a reflection off of metal.  _Guns_  she thought instinctively. She caught Roy's arm and muttered, "There's a strange light over there, sir. About 8 o'clock."

Roy looked in the direction she indicated, only slightly turning his head. "I don't see anything, Hawkeye. Are you sure?"

"Sir. Permission to investigate? I have a bad feeling."

"Granted. Make it quick. We're leaving soon." He nodded.

She caught the strange glint again as she headed toward it, but this time it was in between two cars closer to the large group of people. Feeling the handgun on her thigh, she hiked up her dress in a very unladylike way and made for the parked cars.  _What is that?_   _I don't remember anything shiny on any of the cars when we got here. Could just be some jewelry. Or car…ornament?_

She heard a rustle on the ground two cars down, something that sounded like cloth being ripped. She drew out the pistol and cocked it as quietly as she could, and the rustling stopped. Trying hard not to make any more noise, Riza neared the space where the unwelcome noise had been, rounded a car corner, and aimed, ready to fire. There was nothing. She furrowed her eyebrows and dropped her arms, confused. She was sure it had been there, at that exact spot. Maybe Roy was right. Was she hallucinating? She hadn't even had anything remotely alcoholic to drink that night.

And that was when the crack of a gunshot echoed through the darkness near the congregation of meandering people.

Riza knew the sound well. She'd made many such noises herself when firing her own guns.  _The General! Roy!_  Kicking off her heels, she picked up the skirt of her dress and sprinted back to him. A second shot followed. And then a third. And a fourth. Her eyes made out the figure of a man in dark clothes carrying a rifle ( _a sniper rifle?_ ), running just outside the light's reach outside the ballroom. Another man followed him. Her brain shut off and the soldier in her came to life.  _The enemy._ Letting her dress fall, she took a stance and aimed at the men firing two shots. She saw one man stumble and fall, and heard yelling. But the man he was following didn't stop. She squinted and was about to fire another shot but saw the other man pull out a short gun and shoot his downed partner in the head. The yelling stopped. The other man continued to run back behind the ballroom and out of her sight.

Riza didn't follow him and decided she'd take a look at the dead man later. She huffed and turned her attention to the crowd. People were running around, screaming and frightened at the gunshots and they had started to form a huddle around whom she presumed to be the victim, or victims, of the four shots. Some military officers had their own firearms out, muzzles pointed downwards, trying to regain control over the terrified people. It wasn't working.

"Hawkeye!" she heard Havoc's voice yell out above the clamor. "Lieutenant Colonel Hawkeye!" He sounded desperate.

"Havoc? I'm here! I'm fine!" she tried to yell back and pushed through terrified people. She bumped into Havoc and Rebecca, after finding Fuery and dragging him with her. All four officers had their weapons out. "Where's the General?" she asked frantically, hair falling out of her clip.

"I haven't seen him," Havoc said, breathing heavily and eyes wide. "He was talking to Dr. Marcoh before the shooting."

"Everybody  _back away_!" they heard Armstrong boom out. " _Now!_ " They saw the large huddle of people spread out, but Riza could barely see through the large throng of people.

"General! General Mustang!" she cried, circling the crowd.  _Where was he?_

"Riza!" She heard Armstrong call out to her this time, and registered her dropped rank and given name. Armstrong  _never_  addressed her by her name. "Riza!"  _Please no._

She pushed and shoved people out of the way, not bothering to apologize, and when she finally reached the center of the crowd, her mind wiped and she felt her gut flip flop, suddenly remembering Lust's craze-filled eyes and bloodstained needle-like fingers. She wanted to scream out.

Roy was on the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions, comments, suggestions, or anything else that you would like brought to my attention, please message me or write a review! Second opinions are always welcome :)
> 
> I will also repeat here: please read further at your own discretion.


	8. Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for waiting patiently! This chapter gave me a bit of trouble, as it's kind of a transition chapter, but I hope it came out alright!

Riza silently gasped.  _No no no! I was_ _ **right**_ _there! I didn't– I couldn't– I–_

 _You didn't do your job_.

She shoved people out of the way and crashed onto the ground next to Roy. He was unconscious, red blossoming on his shirt that had started to form a small puddle near his sides. Her eyes were threatening to spill as she felt for a pulse on his wrist and she found it; it was still there, not exactly faint, but not as strong as it should have been. A bullet had pierced through his suit jacket into his left shoulder near his chest and another had buried itself in his right side. They were both leaking profuse amounts of blood and though it looked as though Armstrong had managed to wrap them both, they were beginning to seep through the bound cloth.

"Sir? Sir!" she called, feeling hopeless. "What happened?" she cried out to no one in particular.

"There was a gunshot and we didn't know if anyone had been hit at all, until the second shot came. General Mustang stumbled and fell right in front of me and started to bleed," Maria Ross said shakily and stepped forward, her eyes glistening with tears, though she wasn't outwardly crying. "I'm sorry ma'am. I didn't know what to do."

Riza didn't answer her and looked at Roy again. Armstrong had ripped open Roy's jacket, vest, and shirt to tend to the wounds, and his pants were torn as well. She noticed he had only one glove on and picked up his hand, turning it over, dreading the worst. He was wearing an arrayed glove, and reaching over his body, checked the holsters under his arms. One of the handguns was missing.

"Sir? I'm going to need you to wake up now. Sir?  _Now._ " She tapped his face and shook him gently, trying not to disturb his bindings. Her chest felt heavy.  _Don't die on me here. Not now._

He stirred slightly, his face twitched and he blinked in his unconsciousness. Riza tapped him harder.

Roy's eyes shot open and he attempted to sit up suddenly, but his face twisted in agony. "Hawkeye! I–, ah," he gasped. "Lieutenant _. Are you hurt?_ " he closed his eyes, waiting for her answer.

"No, sir," she said quickly. "No one else was shot," she mumbled, trying not to look at all the red. "Sir, we need to get you to a hospital!" her voice raised.

"Status, Hawkeye," his voice came uneven as he tried to steady his breathing.

"Two, sir. One killed, the other…got away. We need to get you to a hospital, sir," she repeated, relieved that he wasn't dead. "Can you still remember everything that happened? We're going to need a full report after you're treated." She put a hand lightly on his chest, feeling the rise and fall. When she pulled away, her hand came back bloody.

But Roy had fallen limp again, and her heart sped up.  _No! Stay awake! You can't leave me!_  She noticed that many of the remaining people had backed away and that Havoc had disappeared back into the ballroom, hopefully to call for an ambulance.

"Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong," she called, not taking her eyes off her superior. When he had joined her at Roy's side, she said quietly, "I managed to disable one suspect. By the eastern edge of the building. His partner killed him." Armstrong nodded, knowing what she wanted him to do, and left, steel gauntlets clanking on his fists.

A few minutes later, an ambulance arrived ( _how did they get here so fast?_ ) and lifted Roy into the back, careful to keep him stable. Her heart hammered in her chest.  _At least he's alive_. She joined the medic in the back of the ambulance and stared at Roy's body, suddenly taken back to the ambulance ride from the Third Laboratory.  _What now?_

* * *

Riza barely heard what the medics and doctors were saying when they arrived at the closest hospital. A military hospital would have been preferable, but since the situation was dire and they were so far out from any large city, it couldn't be helped. They had whisked Roy off to the emergency room for examination and surgery, and she had taken a seat outside the operating room on a bench, dress dirty and feet bare. Havoc and Rebecca and the rest of the team had followed the ambulance to the hospital, and waited silently with her. Falman handed her her heels, and she took them but didn't put them back on.

_It's all your fault. You weren't there. You weren't there to protect him. You promised. You broke your promise. You didn't even catch the assassins. You're useless. Just like the time with…Lust._

Rebecca put an arm around her and talked soothingly to her. Breda stared at the opposite wall of the hallway. Falman was pacing. Fuery was fiddling with a few loose wires in his lap. And Havoc was muttering, swearing to himself.

_It's all your fault. Your fault. What if he dies? You're useless. General! The great Flame Alchemist cut down by something so low as a bullet. Your fault. All your fault._

The wait was miserable and Riza would not allow herself to cry, remembering Roy's words to her after his confrontation with Lust.  _Never give up on living!_  And after one and a half hours of torture, a doctor opened the door from inside the operating room, blood on his white coat. _Roy's blood_. They all shot to their feet.

"Next of kin?" he asked gruffly.

"Me," Riza said weakly. Rebecca squeezed her arm.

"Follow me," the doctor said, holding the door open for her to walk through, "Though you might want to put on some shoes." He led her behind a curtain where Roy lay on his back, in what was left of his expensive three-piece suit, still unconscious, still bloody, but breathing fairly normally. "We pulled these out of him," the doctor pointed to a small tray that held two bloody bullets. She recognized them as bullets from .223 rifle cartridges, and frowned. The military had discontinued the use of .223 cartridges a few years ago and substituted them with .280s.  _Definitely not military_. _Renegades with stolen weapons?_

"He'll be fine. Wounds were mostly topical, no organs were damaged. A few stitches," the doctor went on, "whoever fired at him was a bad shot," he noted dryly.

 _Or just wanted to badly injure him?_ Riza nodded slowly. "How long will he have to stay for recovery?"

"Since they were only flesh wounds and not deep enough to do some real damage, he should be up and walking in a week," he paused, "but he'll need to keep his exertion low without any stress. Military?" he asked, gesturing to the guns and holsters on the table next to the bullets, apparently having been removed for the operation.

"Yes," Riza made out, blood still pounding in her head. "Extra precaution when we're not in uniform," she tried to explain without giving away more information.

"We get a few military patients now and then. I recognize the standard issues. Also, you might want to take this back," the doctor had turned from her and was rummaging through a drawer. "We hid it, just in case." He handed her Roy's pocket watch and one ripped alchemy glove, flecks of red dotting both.

She gasped and almost snatched the items from the doctor. She had totally forgotten about Roy's glove while they were in the ambulance and hadn't thought to take it off his hand before he had been taken away into the hospital. Clutching the glove close to her chest and dropping the watch into her bag, she mumbled a quiet thanks to the doctor.

He nodded, "It's not every day we treat alchemists here, especially State Alchemists. But we've come to realize that many don't like their transmutation circles out in the open. Which one?" he nodded again toward Roy.

Riza decided that she would trust him, and closing her eyes, gave a nod. "Flame," she confirmed. "General Mustang."

The doctor's face dropped. "The  _Hero of Ishval_. In _my_  hospital." He muttered to himself. "We'll set him up in a room for recovery, ma'am."

"Er, yes. Where will he be staying?" she asked softly. Her pulse had slowed down a bit, and she was slowly beginning to regain clarity.

"His room will be 3602, third floor, sixth wing, second room," the doctor ushered her back out to her friends. "He'll be there in about thirty minutes, after we get him cleaned up from surgery. What would you like us to do with his other clothing?"

 _Surgery. What…am I doing here again?_ Riza suddenly felt dizzy and confused again. "I, ah, um, I uh…" she managed out.

"We'll take it, please," Falman helped out. "Disinfect it, would you?" And the doctor nodded and left.

"The General will be…fine," she breathed. "Just some flesh wounds. Doctor says he should be walking in a week. Knowing him, he'll want to leave in a few days," she smiled, but faltered.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. The General had been wounded before, and though they were used to him being in the hospital from minor injuries during missions, a deliberate assassination attempt on their leader was not something they had been prepared for on their vacation.  _Were the bullets even meant for him? What happened to the other two? Who were these people?_  A million questions flooded Riza's brain and she didn't have any answers for them.  _Why did he only have one glove on? Where's the missing pistol?_

Armstrong padded slowly over to them from down the hall. Riza looked at him expectantly, waiting for news on the dead attacker. "There was no body, Lieutenant Colonel. Just bloodstained dirt behind the ballroom. The body may have been taken while you were in the ambulance and before I got there. Four .223 rifle casings were found on the outside of the parking lot as well. However," he paused, looking uncomfortable and pained, "there was a note left." He drew from his pocket the remnants of Roy's other glove, but the transmutation circle on the back of the hand had been cut out.

"No," Riza breathed, and her heart sky-rocketed again. She pulled out Roy's other glove, the one the doctor had handed her, and laid them side by side on her lap.  _One bloody and the other with no array. This is bad._  Though she knew that only Roy knew how to activate the circle, her mind raced.  _Someone was after flame alchemy_.

"That's not all," Armstrong said, his voice low. He handed her a dirty cloth, and when she laid it out flat, she noticed that it was part of one of Roy's dress shirts that he had brought with him. Three strange symbols were written crudely on the remains of the shirt in – was that _lipstick_? Riza clenched the shirt in her hands. The assassins would have had to break into their hotel rooms to get the shirt and she knew Roy had extra gloves and alchemy notes in his. She stood up quickly.

"Easy girl," Rebecca said. "Where are you going?"

"This is the _General's_ shirt," Riza said, trying to steady her breathing. "They broke into his room! …his notes…"

"I will take care of that, Lieutenant Colonel," Armstrong laid a hand on her arm and forced her to sit back down.

"I'll go with you, sir," Breda walked to his side. "The chief's notes and gloves?" Havoc jerked his head in response and the two took off without any more questions.

"What do those symbols mean?" Fuery asked, eyes wide behind his glasses.

"And why is it written in…red  _lipstick_?" Havoc said.

If someone was after Roy's transmutation circle, then Riza was certain they would find out what was on her back sooner or later. It was written down nowhere else and she didn't know of anyone who had even attempted to recreate flame alchemy. But the tattoo on her back had long been since destroyed, the most vital parts to the array burnt by Roy himself. She distinctly remembered the pain she had asked for on that day he ruined her back.

The assassins would get nowhere with her. Though she knew the basic design that crawled across her skin, she didn't know the equations or laws that surrounded it. Roy had asked her if she wanted to know what was written, and she had vehemently refused. She had wanted nothing more to do with her father and his obsession, and though she had loved him, a feeling of neglect pained her every time she thought of him.

No, the assassins wouldn't get anything from her. They may have Roy's array, but that wasn't enough.

_What did the symbols mean? An upright trigon, two circles with tails circling each other like fish, and another circle with three dots in the middle. Alchemical symbols? A code? A different language?_

"Miss," a nurse approached the small group, "General Mustang is now situated in his room. Please follow me."

They followed the petite woman up a few flights of stairs and down another hallway until they entered Roy's room. He was propped up in the bed, an IV running through his left arm with blankets tucked around him. He looked almost serene, had it not been for the thick bandages covering a good portion of his upper chest and right side. A large burn scar on his left side peeked out from the hospital clothes and Riza felt her heart go heavy. She had been responsible for that too.

 _Useless_.

She stood at his bedside for a few minutes, staring at him sleeping. The others hadn't even entered the room, giving her privacy, and she took his hand and held it delicately, slowly becoming frustrated and angry.  _He's alive._  "When will he be up?" she stiffly asked the nurse who was still standing in the room, and removed her hand.

"In about nine hours ma'am. We gave him a sleeping aid, since his body was flushed with adrenaline after the…shooting…and during the operation."

"I'll be here at seven tomorrow morning," Riza told her, still not taking her eyes off of her injured superior.

"Of course, ma'am."

Riza gave him one last look before walking away and joining her friends back outside.  _He'll make it. A large setback in our plans, but he'll make it._  She tried to convince herself.

"See? He's fine, Riza," Rebecca hugged her. "That man's too reckless to die anyway," she offered a smile.

"You're right, Becky," Riza sounded like she was talking to comfort herself more than anything. "He'll be just fine."

At that moment, Breda and Armstrong returned from the hotel, carrying a small bag. Breda handed it to her, "Both notebooks weren't taken, but one of the four spare gloves he had was gone. The windows to his room were broken and everything was trashed, but the Chief's good at hiding those notebooks. The adjoining door was still intact, though, no one entered your room. Err, Hawkeye," Breda looked at her reluctantly, "his uniform wasn't there. In his room. We think they've taken it as well."

"What? His  _uniform_?"

"Ma'am." Armstrong inclined his head, confirming what Breda had said.

_Why would they take his uniform?_

"We also moved all of his things and yours into my room for the moment. Just in case they come back," Breda continued.

Riza thanked the two, feeling a tiny bit of relief that her friends had considered the possibility. If the assassins decided to go back to the General's room and bust down the adjoining door, they'd find more gloves and weapons in her room. She wouldn't be able to stay in that room anymore.

Sensing her thoughts, Rebecca offered to let Riza spend the night in her and her husband's room, insisting that Havoc had already decided to stay in Breda's room. Riza suspected this wasn't exactly the case, but was grateful for her friend's offer, and moved her things and Roy's out of Breda's room and into Rebecca's when they arrived at the hotel again. She carefully inspected all of Roy's belongings, noticing that some of his lighter color clothing had parts of dirty handprints spotting them, but no blood. She examined the handprints, but to her dismay couldn't make out any clear fingerprints. Folding the clothing, she packed it all away again, preparing to leave once the General was able to walk. They'd be leaving this place and heading straight back to Eastern Headquarters. There, at least, she knew he'd be safer, with multiple able-bodied officers around. Everyone would feel more comfortable there, a place they knew like the backs of their hands.

She fell onto the bed, exhausted from the murder attempt, trying to find sleep so morning would come sooner. Roy would be awake then and though she wouldn't readily admit it to herself, she needed to see his face smirking back at her, telling her that she always worried too much, and reminding her of how much work needed to be done in the morning. She needed to hear what she thought was love in his voice, dripping honey-sweet, so much like the sarcasm that easily rolled off his tongue. She needed to be near him, feel his body heat, and hear his slow breathing in the office.

_Damned bastards._

* * *

Riza was awakened in the early morning by a phone call to the room. Squinting groggily in the dark at the time, 0527, she picked up the phone. "Lieutenant Colonel Hawkeye speaking," she managed out in barely a whisper.

"Ma'am, we have a problem," she recognized the wavering voice as the doctor's whom she had spoken with the night before.

"Yes? What is it?" she answered, her voice going shrill, hand clutching her sheets.

"The General's…" he paused, "the General's…gone. Ma'am."

"Wha–, what? What do you mean he's  _gone_? Where could he have gone?" she was fully awake now and had jumped out of bed.

"We think he's been kidnapped ma'am. Please come down to the hospital right away. We need you to look at the room and something the kidnappers left behind. I'm very sorry to wake you," the doctor sounded panicked.

"I–, yes. I'll be there as soon as I can," she slammed down the receiver onto its stand and rushed to get dressed.

"What is it?" Rebecca yawned from the couch, clearly disgruntled at being woken.

"The General's been…kidnapped," Riza felt silly saying those words (Roy wasn't a  _kid_ ). But she felt faint. "I'm on my way to the hospital right now. Apparently the kidnappers left something behind again."

"We'll drive you, Riza," Rebecca had flung off the blankets and was already dialing her husband's room. "Havoc! Get your ass ready! Mustang's been kidnapped and we've got to take Riza back to the hospital!" she yelled into the phone. "No, Riza just got a phone call from the hospital. No I don't know. We'll find out when we get there! Just–, no!  _I don't know_ ," she flung the phone back down, hanging up on her husband.

"Give us five minutes, Riza," she promised.

True to her word, Rebecca managed to hustle her husband into the car, Riza in the front seat. "I know you're not comfortable driving right now," Rebecca slid into the driver's side.

"Step on it," Riza commanded, not wanting to waste another minute. She noticed Breda and Falman and Fuery get into their car behind them and the two cars sped off toward the hospital.

_Oh my god! They've taken him! They've– what are they going to do with him where did they take him why how I can't bastards where is he he's not recovered better not touch him can't fight back shit I can't–_

Her mind was going haywire and she tried to calm down. But when they reached the hospital, she darted into the doors and up the stairs to room 3206 where the doctor and nurse from last night were waiting. The door to his room had been broken down, wood splinters covering the floor of the hallway. Stepping gingerly over the broken wood, the party entered Roy's room. The sheets from the bed were crumpled on the floor, bits of broken glass from the mirror scattered on top.  _A struggle?_  One particularly large piece of glass was bloody, discarded near the bed. Still scanning the room, she saw that the IV had been yanked out of Roy's arm and was dangling from the flashing monitor. The needle was bloody too.

"We're very sorry, ma'am. Only three doctors were covering this floor last night and they reported nothing out of the ordinary. They were all with other patients at the other end of the hallway," the doctor said morosely. "We discovered the General was missing at 5:10 this morning as I was ending my shift. I came to check on his IV but found the room like this; it hasn't been touched since. We don't know how long ago he'd been taken."

Riza stared around the room, looking for anything unusual, other than another piece of cloth nailed to the room wall above the bed. Ignoring it for a little longer, she and Havoc inspected under the bed, under the sheets on the floor, in the sink,  _everywhere_ , and came back with nothing. "I'm sorry too, Doctor. I don't believe it was your fault, but we'll have to call you back as a third party during the investigation. I hope you don't mind," Havoc said, trying not to sound angry, but failing. Riza stayed silent.

She walked closer to the wall to get a better look at the tacked piece of cloth.  _Another one of Roy's shirts_. The message in lipstick was written again, but this time in thick blood. Her eyes went to the bloody shard of glass.  _No. It can't be_. As she was sure the kidnappers wouldn't harm themselves to write the message, she was certain the blood was Roy's. She sank to the ground, ignoring the glass. He had just undergone surgery and had already lost too much blood, and these bastards had come and bled him some more.  _If he was even awake, he wouldn't even be able to run away._  The General was surely dead by now, if not, then dangerously close to death.  _She had absolutely failed this time._  Ripping his bloody shirt off from where it was nailed on the wall, she flung it at Havoc, fury in her eyes. "He's gone," she whispered, head bowed. "Where is he?"

* * *

_Where am I?_

Roy came to. His vision was blurry but he could make out a line of dim light bulbs hanging from the ceiling in front of him, barely lighting a long room. His neck ached. As his eyes cleared and adjusted, he saw dark empty shelves that looked like they had been pushed to the walls, making track lines on the dirt floor. Prison could be crossed off in his list of potential whereabouts. He knew the insides of every penitentiary in Amestris; they all looked the same.  _I…hurt_.  _What happened? …Hawkeye?_  He struggled to move his hands but saw they had been bound in thick metal handcuffs; the chain extended to cuffs on his ankles as well.  _Shit. Terrific._

 _I'm in hospital clothes_  he noticed, still groggy,  _where are my gloves? I had them on…didn't I?_ He tried to recall what had happened.  _Party Dr. Marcoh pain gloves more pain_  he struggled against his bindings almost halfheartedly.  _I was…shot_.  _Shot twice. Lieutenant. Hawkeye. Riza? Riza. Where are you? Where am I?_ _ **Where am I?**_

The rattling chains had apparently brought the attention of someone and Roy heard a person stepping lightly on the dirt floor in front of him.  _My gloves? Guns? I can't do…anything?_  Pain shot through his left shoulder. That must have been where he was shot. He tried to twist in the chair he was seated in, and his right side screamed in response.  _And there_. A dark slash was oozing blood on his right forearm. Moving his hands to his side as much as the chains would allow, he kneaded the flesh there, feeling for the bullet.  _Hospital_  his head reminded him. He must have been treated at a hospital for the removal of the bullets. At least those were taken care of. But the pain was still there, enough so that it impeded any further movement, and he stopped, panting and already fatigued.

The person was closer now, but Roy couldn't see him, or her, clearly in the gloom. "Finally awake?" An accented and androgynous voice cut through the silence. "We've been waiting for you."

Roy stayed silent.  _Kidnapped then._ He couldn't tell if this person was male or female, but judging from the way the person walked, Roy deduced that he or she was of lighter build; the accent he couldn't quite place. But he was fully awake now.  _Let the kidnapper talk. They might reveal something_. He remembered his training on kidnapping and torture at the Military Academy, and fervently hoped it wouldn't come to the latter.  _Hawkeye! Goddamnit._ He tried to move his arms into a more comfortable position.

"I wouldn't move if I were you, my dear. Roy.  _Mustang_ ," the kidnapper didn't step into the light and Roy couldn't see any features. He heard the person walk slowly around him and the voice began to list off his titles. " _Flame_  Alchemist.  _Hero_  of Ishval.  _General_.  _Cataegidum vindex_. You certainly get around, don't you, Mustang?" Roy could hear a snarl rip through the voice, contempt mixed with jealousy.

"That's what the ladies say," he rasped out, trying his luck. A hand came from the dark and struck him violently, snapping his head to the side. He spat out bloody saliva.

"I didn't give you permission to speak,  _dog_ ," the voice snapped. Another slap followed. "I don't appreciate your arrogance, Mustang." The voice took on a smooth persona, "We'll have to teach you obedience."

His kidnapper finally stepped into the light in front of him. A woman. She looked to be a bit younger than himself, was dressed in an immaculate black pantsuit, and he noticed the heels on her shoes looked vaguely like thin stiletto knives. Her long black hair waved gently down her back and spilled onto her shoulders, curling around her neck. He slowly looked up at her face and almost retched. It was almost a perfect mirror of Lust's. Her purple-colored lips were pinched in a grim smile.  _The eyes! The eyes! Look at the eyes!_  Squinting, he looked into her empty eyes. The pupils weren't slits and the irises weren't purple like Lust's, but a fierce dark blue and human, and were slightly slanted and almond-shaped. He almost breathed a sigh of relief. Lust hadn't been recreated.

"Ania.  _Pain_  in my language." She had a catlike sneer in her mouth and she stepped toward his chair, placing her hands on opposite sides of him and leaning down so that her face was close to his. " _Very_  pleased to make your acquaintance, Mustang. I'm sure we'll get along  _quite_ nicely _._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read so far! You guys make me smile :)
> 
> *Also, the next chapter has some mature content, so please read at your own discretion.


	9. The First Test

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains graphic content not suitable for younger audiences. Please do not read if you're uncomfortable with graphic images and swearing.
> 
> Okay guys, this chapter is pretty twisted :/ and I must apologize beforehand. When I was reading back and editing, I was thinking to myself, "My god, what have I done? I'm such a horrible person just thinking these things, let alone writing them out!" It was difficult to put the images into words, and I almost didn't finish it because I made myself so upset. But I figured I might as well take a chance, so voilà: the finished product! Once again, I'm sorry for what you are about to read.

Riza wasn't sure what to do. It was reaching close to 1100 and they were still at the hospital, trying to hold themselves together. Local military police had arrived at the scene, swarming the third floor, and asking the team questions they had no answers to. Eastern Headquarters had been notified of the General's unintended hiatus earlier that morning, and was sending officers to begin a search. And Riza had been informed that a Colonel Enyo of Eastern had been placed in charge of the search and would have a platoon of sixty officers at his disposal. They would arrive in a few hours. She thought bitterly that they should have been there a few hours ago.

With Roy absent, it was silently acknowledged that Riza would temporarily take his place as head of the team until he returned.  _Until he returned._  But her strength could only go so far. She felt sick and dizzy and all she wanted to do was sleep. MPs milled around where she sat, the same bench as the night before, and they tried to come up to her and ask more pointless questions. She warded them off with fierce glares.

Roy's room was still in its disheveled state, as Riza had firmly ordered that nothing was to be moved without her consent. For the time being, it could stay the way it was; forensics would be here anytime soon.  _The way it was when he was taken._  She was still nowhere near an explanation.

_Where did they take him? Symbols? What do they want with his alchemy? Where? Where? Why? Who are they?_

She barely noticed Rebecca leading her back to the car and going back to the hotel room. Her neck was beginning to bother her again, and she subconsciously rubbed the scar. Though May had healed the wound enough to stop the bleeding, the muscles and skin in her neck had healed unevenly, causing short flares of pain every now and then. Roy had always discreetly pressed her to take pain medicine every time he saw her discomfort, a guilty look in his eyes; sometimes she took it and sometimes she didn't. It was a scar she wore somewhat proudly, a grim reminder of the Promised Day.

But the thought of the General and his unknown whereabouts forced her heart into her stomach, and she turned her tormented mind to the endless possibilities.

_Where is he? Why is he gone? I need to know. I need to find out._

* * *

"Ania," the woman repeated. "But in time you might be calling me something a bit more…familial." Ania had released him and now her back was turned to him as she talked. Roy lowered his eyes to his wrists. She turned to look above him. "Get down here!" she barked, and Roy heard feet shuffle behind him. Three large, hulking men entered his vision and went to stand behind Ania. He tried to get a good look at each of them but the dark was still overpowering. No windows graced the room.  _Warehouse?_

"My assistants," Ania said, grinning, and spread her hands to indicate the three men. "Will help me…gather some rather potent information,  _Flame_. I have just a few minutes until I have to say goodbye, so I might as well get started. My, ah… _employer_ …is on a tight schedule at the moment, and though he sadly can't be with us at the moment, he told me to bid you  _welcome_  on his behalf."

She waved her hand and one of the muscular men stepped forward toward him.  _Gray shirt, blue pants. Amestrian military?_  Roy registered as he noticed the silver lining on the pants. They looked worn and faded, and had multiple rips in them.  _Obviously not anymore_. His head was bald and a tattoo of a key decorated a beefy arm. "You are to tell us the location of the original Flame Alchemy sigil." His voice was rough and gravelly, and he was standing so close Roy could smell cigarette smoke on his breath.

"No." Roy said almost immediately and narrowed his eyes. So Ania and employer wanted the secret to Flame Alchemy. His mind immediately went to Riza.  _They can't be allowed to find her._

A giant fist collided into his side and pain shot up his spine. He winced and gritted his teeth, but didn't cry out.

"You are to tell us the location of the original Flame Alchemy sigil," the request was repeated, but this time by one of the other massive men. He was dressed in the same fashion and had the same tattoo of a key, but a shock of white-blond hair topped his head. Big Ugly Number One moved to the side.

"No." He said again, steeling himself for more pain. Another punch followed, this time right in his stomach. He clenched his teeth. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of hearing his pain.

"Tell us the location of the original Flame Alchemy sigil," the last man snarled, starting forward.

"Patience, Carl," Ania warned. "Move aside. This is going nowhere." The three men, Big Ugly Number One, Big Ugly Number Two, and Carl stomped noisily a few feet away, clearly angry with Roy's definitive responses.

Ania leaned down and brought a hand close to his face. Roy was trembling slightly from the heavy punches to his body, but he met her eyes in a hard stare, all emotion drained from his face as best as he could manage. She gently stroked the side of his face.  _Seduction eh?_  Her hand smoothed back some hair that had fallen out of its place in its still slicked back position. "The original sigil, Mustang. Tell me," she purred in his ear.

"No." He didn't hesitate. Her hand stopped and she leaned back, her blue eyes on fire.

" _No?_ " she repeated and sighed dramatically. She slapped him hard, nails raking across his face.

He gasped, already feeling little rivers of blood dribble down his cheek, stinging.

"You will  _tell_  me," Ania's voice raised. She raised her hand again and was about to strike, but her face suddenly softened. "Actually," she paused. "We have enough time so I'll cut you some slack. Macer will take care of the rest." She smirked and lowered her hand. "Do you know where you are,  _dog_?"

Roy was still. She had an advantage here; he had no clue as to where he was. The inside of the building he was in didn't look familiar.

"I know you don't," Ania went on, barely waiting to hear if he even had an answer. "When was the last time you visited Aerugo,  _General_?"

His eyes widened, and Ania laughed. It would have been a pleasant sound, had Roy not been in his current position.  _Aerugo?_   _Bastards!_ So maybe Ania's brutes weren't former Amestrian military. Quickly bringing up a mental map of Amestris, he recalled that Resembool was indeed situated very close to the southern border, the one Aerugo shared with Amestris. How long ago had he been taken?  _Riza!_  She would almost certainly never find him if he was in a different country.  _How did they cross the border?_

"Aerugo," Ania repeated. "Your precious Fuhrer is over a thousand miles away and with our peace treaty, I'm certain Amestris won't go to war just for  _one_  man. You can't be  _that_  important to them," she laughed again. "We left a few messages for your dear Fuhrer, but I don't expect him to do anything about it. After all, who knows a dead alchemical language anymore?" She sighed and examined her fingernails. "Anyway, we're wasting time here. I'm afraid I have somewhere else to be." She moved behind him and started walking away, the three muscle men with her, muttering amongst themselves.

"Ania," he heard one of them address her. "The Crow is expecting results within a  _week_."

"I know," she snapped back. They were getting farther away now. "And he'll have to learn to wait. He can't expect me to get the info that quickly, the insolent bastard. 'The Heart of Summer,' he said. We still have enough time. If he– ah. Not here." She stopped walking. "Someone will be here to check on you,  _Flame_ ," she called out back to Roy. "Someone to persuade you a little more." He heard a door open and then slam shut, echoing across the large room. He was alone again.

 _I'm in Aerugo!_  He closed his eyes.  _I have to get out of here. Riza's in danger. Possibly Fullmetal._  He winced, the pain was throbbing harder now, beating into his skin, and bruises forming from the blows weren't helping either.  _Edward_. He and his brother were on their way to Xing, totally ignorant of his situation. He fervently hoped they wouldn't get dragged into this.

 _How did these people find out?_ But that was a stupid question. He knew he hadn't been modest with his state alchemist title, and people still told stories about his remarkable control over fire. His transmutation circle was stitched onto the backs of his  _gloves_  for crying out loud. Anyone with a good memory could quickly copy it down anywhere. They would have no idea how to activate it, but the circle could still be of use to a novice alchemist, since the shapes and symbols in it were used amongst alchemists universally. Should he have been more careful with the circle? As long as no one found out about Riza, the circle wasn't an issue, his mind concluded. And Ania seemed to know that the circle on his gloves wasn't the true sigil. Had she been watching him, spying on him? His mind raced.  _If only_.  _If only._  If only he could warn Riza that someone was after the information on her back.  _But her tattoo isn't even complete either!_  He clenched his hands in their cuffs as he remembered why.  _His fault_.

If Riza was caught, once Ania and her "employer" found out that the tattoo wouldn't help them, they'd be at his throat again, knowing he knew the missing parts, and who knew what they'd do to his Lieutenant Colonel then? He didn't have a way out. They'd use her to get him to talk, he was sure of it.  _Could he relive that again?_ He saw her blood-spattered face from the Promised Day and mentally shuddered. And if they knew that his transmutation circle wasn't complete just by observing him, they most certainly knew about Riza and how close she was to him.  _I'll just have to hold out until I'm found_.  _There's nothing else I can do._ His mind battled itself.  _There's nothing I can do! But you have to do something! Anything! I can't…_

His side burned. And just who was the Crow? And what was the Heart of Summer? It sounded ominous, like the Promised Day. Another end-of-the-world kind of thing? He wriggled around in his chair. The handcuffs around his wrists and ankles wouldn't allow him to get up to stand, and his muscles were starting to ache and feel stiff. How long had he been sitting in this chair again? Though the bullets had been removed, he felt like he could still feel them in his skin, digging deep into muscle. The bandages that wrapped his wounds felt stiff and dry, but he could see red staining his shirt. His arms weren't covered, he noticed, and saw where an IV had been placed in his left forearm; the needle hole was puckered and an angry red.

 _Shit shit shit shit shit_  he thought angrily. Riza flashed in his mind, a young girl of seventeen, tattoo fresh on her back. She was smiling.  _I trusted you, sir. And now look what you've done. Everything my father has worked for has been placed in jeopardy because of your foolishness._  Her smile stretched to a sneer.  _You're weak, just like my father. You're weak. Weak._ The crack of a gunshot erupted in his head.

* * *

He didn't know how long he sat in the dim room. His stomach whined for nourishment, his mouth was parched and sticky from dehydration, and he hadn't slept or tried to sleep in fear he'd be caught off guard by Ania again. His ears strained for any sound in the room, but none had been forthcoming since Ania had left, and he was beginning to feel tired. His body ached.

But then, a door behind him creaked open quickly. "This is it?" A man's harsh voice echoed loudly. "This where the dog is being kept?"

Someone answered him, but Roy couldn't make out who it was.

"Fine. Done. Now get out and let me work," the man closed the door again and crossed over to Roy, the sound of heavy chains rattling with every step. "Mustang, eh?" he stood in front of Roy; he was an average man, medium build, tall, dark hair, and in his hands he held long, heavy chains.

"What's it to you?" Roy managed out, eyeing the chains.

"Nothing. I've just been ordered to make you talk. And you  _will_  talk." the man sneered and started to hang up the chains in front of Roy's chair. "Unfortunately, Ania's been sent out on some…business, and set me in charge of making you squeal before… _that ass_  gets here." Once he was done, he drew out a long knife from his belt and pointed it at Roy. "But you look the strong type so we'll have some fun first."

In two large steps he was in front of Roy and he hefted him out of the chair. Roy silently groaned as his muscles stretched stiffly. The man laughed, crazed. "Ah, my favorite part." He hooked Roy's handcuffs into the chains that he had attached so that he was hanging, knees bent almost to the ground, and his arms raised above his head.

"All settled then?" the man laughed again, and stood behind Roy. A sharp crack and Roy winced, biting his tongue. "You will tell us where the original  _Flame Alchemy sigil_  is," the man repeated. "The beatings will stop once you do."

"No," Roy gasped. Another lash. His fists clenched in their handcuffs. Another lash. "No," he repeated, barely a whisper. Another lash. He wanted to cry out so badly. Another lash. His side was splitting. He was sure the whip had licked around his bullet wounds and reopened them. Another lash.

"Why don't you scream, dog?" Another lash. "Scream for me."

The lashes continued. Sweat flooded Roy's vision. His fingernails left bloody marks on his palms from clenching his fists. But he still refused to make any noise.

"Scream for me!" the man was beginning to get angry now. "Let me hear your lovely screams of  _pain_!" He emphasized the last word with another lash. Roy felt his hospital shirt give way to the whip, ripped from the lashes.  _No no no!_ A thick hand grabbed the shirt and tore it off, and for a relieving moment, the lashes stopped. "And  _what_  is  _this_ Mustang?" the man said gleefully. "A tattoo?" he cackled. Roy could feel the man's hot breath on his back.  _Fuck._

Roy could see the image in his bleary mind: a small representation, about the size of his fist, of a feather tied together with a rifle. A sniper rifle to be exact. In the third year of the Restoration, a priest in Ishval had asked him if he would like to go through the coming of age ceremony for men with the other candidates that year, an act of full acceptance on the Ishvalans' part, and though he had been twelve years older than the others, he had accepted. The ritual had been long and grueling, but at the end of the week-long ritual, he and the other candidates had been rewarded with a tattoo of their choosing denoting their success. "What of?" Roy had asked. "Your strength," another fellow candidate had told him, pointing out some of the other men's choices. The Ishvalan national flag. A panther. The sun. A knife. A name. And Roy had then made his choice. Ishvalan custom dictated that all tattoos were to be placed on the torso of the body, the most sacred part of the body in Ishval, and never the limbs or above the neck (Scar had said that his brother had his alchemy tattoos on his arms because he hadn't wanted to mark his torso with something that had been considered blasphemous; though Scar's brother had been studying alchemy, it seemed he had still respected his culture's customs and rules). And so Roy had chosen the most common place: the back of his right shoulder, below his shirt neckline on the shoulder blade. The priest who tattooed him had looked a bit surprised when he had given his design request, but had marked him anyway, saying that his was a strange, yet powerful one. But Roy knew exactly why he had chosen the tattoo, heart turning to Riza.  _His strength emanated from her very existence._

"What's it for eh, General?" the man struck him with the whip again. "Sentimental are we? A  _feather?_ " Another lash. The lashes came quicker this time around, and Roy sensed the man didn't really want to know, he just wanted to hear his victim talk. "Scream, Mustang!" the man was yelling now. The stripes laid on his back stung and Roy began to see red dripping behind him. His teeth were clenched and he was panting, sweat dropping from his face.

The whipping stopped. He heard the man growl and walk away quickly, rummaging behind him to the side. He came back and Roy felt his back almost give way. He cried out, not anticipating the change. " _That's_  what I wanna hear, Mustang!" the man screeched. He had struck him with a long piece of rusty pipe; it was hanging in his hand, flakes of oxidized iron fluttering to the ground. He struck him in the side again and Roy grunted in pain. His bandages from the hospital were dangling from his swollen skin, tatters fluttering as he hung from his wrists. "Now _talk_  Mustang. I want to hear the  _sweet_  sound of your screaming," Roy was vaguely reminded of Solf Kimblee. A sharper pain cut into his back where his tattoo was. "Or should I just cut this out of your skin?"

The man slashed a large X through the tattoo and Roy yelled out, feeling more angry than in pain. "Again Mustang!" the man almost giggled. He dropped the pipe and gripped the knife tightly, etching deep into Roy's back.

"Fuck you," Roy rasped out, the tangy scent of blood filled his mouth and nose.

"Arrggh, they said you'd be a tough one. All you have to do is be a good boy and tell me where the sigil is," the man started again. He slapped him across the face with the flat of the blade, but the edge of the knife bit into his cheek. A blow to the face with the butt of the whip winded him and he dropped his head, coughing.

"Claude. What the hell is this?" a new voice broke into the room.

Roy's "interrogator" hesitated in midswing. "Oh. It's just you, Macer. Ania said she had use of my methods," Claude struck Roy with the whip again.

"No no no. You stupid ass," the voice chastised, and neared the two of them. A booted foot came into Roy's view and the sickly-sweet smell of smoke burned his throat. He chanced a look at the newcomer, neck muscles straining. A slender man with blond hair and green eyes stared back at him, hands on his hips and eyebrows cocked in amusement.  _Macer._ Ania had mentioned him. "You're holding the whip wrong," his thin lips smirked. The leather whip licked Roy's back again. "Like this."

"Shut up, Macer. I  _know_  what I'm doing."

"Sure you do. Is that why Ania sent me to check on you? I know you're a novice and you need practice and all at this, but please," Macer tossed his head imperiously. "Let a  _master_  deal with this one. Crow's orders." Another lash. "Ania said we had a few months. Plenty of time to…perfect…some new methods I've come across. You could learn a few things."

Claude grumbled. Clearly Macer was higher up in the chain of command than him, something that apparently irritated him. But he handed the pipe to Macer reluctantly with a mock bow. " _Master_ ," he spat. "Why don't you teach this  _novice_  some of your  _invaluable_ lessons?"

Macer didn't answer him, and the pipe flashed across the room and struck the side of Roy's head. His eyes only saw black for a few seconds, and he could already feel bruises starting to form painfully; his vision was hazy and his lip was split. "Assholes," he breathed, gasping from the blow. Tears of pain pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he forced them away, more determined than ever not to let them see his agony.

"He speaks! A  _pleasure_  to meet you, General. We'll be spending most of our time together. But I guess that depends on you now, doesn't it? All we want to know is where that sigil is, and you're free to go," Macer sing-songed.

Roy didn't reply.

"So that's how it's going to be now? Ah well. That whip, please, Claude."

* * *

Claude and Macer finally left him. Macer had taken on the role of "teacher" with Claude as his "student," and they went through "lessons" with the whip and the long pipe until they got bored with those, and then they had switched to short ropes of chain links. They tried talking pleasantly to him, almost pleading. When he swore and cursed at them, they resorted to yelling, screaming, spitting in his face, and the strikes from the chains had come quicker. Roy had to admit, they were persistent in their torture; by the time they were done, they had been a little out of breath and sweating, and Roy's body was bruised, bloody, and mangled from their handiwork. His head hung lifeless from his neck; sweat and blood mingled together as they dropped to the ground in splashes. But he had managed to not make one sound during the torture, and for that, at least he could feel a little proud.  _The Lieutenant was still safe, for now._

His arms were still tied above him and he hung, his face bloody and his back shredded, shirt gone and bandages now glued to him with fresh blood. The two torturers had bid him goodbye, for now, and Macer promised he'd be back soon ( _"it's a bit lonely down here, don't you think, General? I'll bring some of my friends so this cold warehouse doesn't seem so empty. How about it, eh? I'll be back in five minutes. Don't go anywhere now!"_ ). Roy closed his eyes, focusing on breathing through his bloody nose.

A door ripped open, jolting him from his brief rest. "Oh General! How nice of you to stay," Macer was back.  _Already?_ Between Claude and himself, Macer was the less sane, but definitely the more ruthless, and was obviously more learned in his torture work. "Claude couldn't make it back, but I've brought some of my friends to help wheedle out what we need to know." He yanked a chunk of Roy's hair and forced him to look at his face into his hungry eyes. Roy's vision blurred. "Say hello." Macer stepped to the side and about twenty or so men were behind him, sniggering.  _Had he not heard them all come in?_  They were all wearing the exact same thing: gray shirt and rough blue trousers, the same as Ania's three bodyguards.

"This the fucker?" one of them warbled. "Mindas was killed by Carlisle yesterday when they went out last night and this fuckin' _whore's_  the reason?"

"Yeah, but Mindas was stupid 'nuff to get 'imself shot. 'e was makin' too much noise, so I 'ad ta shut 'im up  _somehow_. Didn' see where I shot 'im, an' he dropped like a fly." Another man answered, presumably Carlisle. "Did manage ta nick this beauty though from 'im though," the rest of the men turned to face their comrade, who held out a shining .45 caliber handgun. Roy squinted and made out the outline of a small pistol, immediately recognizing it as one of Hawkeye's that he had carried on him at the wedding.  _Asshole._

Macer looked unamused and said loudly, "Oh this is most definitely he." He dropped Roy's head, and reached up to light a cigarette. "Guard the doors. Ania said she didn't want any more interruptions in here until we get the information out of this rat. I reckon we'll be here for a bit."

The men looked up from admiring the gun in Carlisle's hand and scurried in all different directions, barging in and out of unseen doors, and the lights suddenly brightened, lighting up the whole room. Through cloudy eyes, Roy could see the entirety of the warehouse he was in. It was both long and wide, and the shelves he had seen earlier were dwarfed by stacked benches next to them. Multiple wicked looking tools, most of them sharp, covered the benches, gleaming under the light. Macer crouched in front of Roy and blew smoke in his face. "Ania didn't mention how stunning you are, Mustang. Such a magnificent…specimen you are." Macer ran a judgmental eye down Roy's body, drinking in the taut skin and strained muscles. "Anyway, the sooner you talk, the sooner you're cut loose. So do us both a favor, and cut the shit, General."

"Begging will get you nowhere," Roy said through his teeth thickly. So the real fun was about to begin. Claude had been just the warm-up. He shivered from a draft in the room.

Macer's face darkened. "So be it," he spat, bits of ash flying onto Roy's soaking chest. He walked over to one of the benches and picked something up, examined it, and set it back down. "All I want is to know a few things. Like where you've managed to hide that beautiful sigil." He selected something from the bench and walked back to where Roy hung. "Like Ania said. We're on a schedule."

"Guess you'll have to apologize to her when you miss your deadline," Roy drawled as sarcastically as he could manage, and choked on a mouthful of blood.

"Ah, General. You still have much to learn yet; Ania said you needed to be broken in. We don't take kindly to disobedience." Macer backhanded him, and as his hand swung away, he stooped down and thrust something into his thigh. Excruciating pain blinded Roy and he fought the will to scream. He gurgled saliva and clenched his teeth, breath coming out in shallow gasps.

"Hm. Interesting." Macer ripped a small boning knife from Roy's leg, blood spattering across his shirt. "Your tolerance to pain is a bit higher than what I'm used to. Anderson, toss me that rod." Blood streamed down Roy's leg staining his pants crimson.

Another shining flash; this time a thin metal rod, one of the points filed crudely to a dull point. Macer twisted it slowly and Roy groaned. "Talk, General." He twisted it again and then yanked it out. The ground below him was slowly becoming moist and muddy with scarlet.

"No," Roy choked. Blood was oozing down the other leg now. "No," he repeated, almost whimpering, closing his blackening eyes.

Macer smirked. "Though I appreciate your tenacity, your lack of manners is quite rude." A few men sitting at a small table behind Macer snickered. "Look at you. Famous General Roy Mustang!" he spit out the remains of his cigarette and crushed it with his heel. "Not even grateful for my generous hospitality!"

"You son of a bitch," Roy coughed out. His legs were burning, and he wanted to cry.  _You will not!_

The knife buried itself in his leg again. "That pretty mouth of yours is starting to piss me off, Mustang." Roy said nothing, hands and teeth clenched and silently screaming in his head. It hurt to even put just a tiny bit of pressure on his legs now, but his arms couldn't hold his entire body weight the way they were stretched over his head. His mind was filled with pain and it was beginning to dull his other senses.

"Oh ho, no you don't Mustang!" Macer had apparently perceived his draw to passing out. "You're gonna stay awake until we get what we want." He backhanded him again. "So start talking. Or would you prefer the chain again?" he grinned evilly, seemingly amused by his own depravity.

"I think I'll take the chain for now," Roy echoed Macer's false politeness, running a ragged tongue over dry teeth and forced a look at the sadist. "But you look a little tired Macer, why not let one of your buddies help you out? Don't they want to make Aerugo proud?" his voice sounded tinny and weak. "Share some of the glory, would you?" It hurt to breathe now.

"Oh, you bastard!" Macer chortled maniacally. "You're a fiendish one, you. With such a pretty mouth." He flicked his wrist and a small stiletto embedded itself in Roy's scarred side. He almost yelped in surprise. "They'll have their own chance, don't be so hasty! It's still my turn with you." A second stiletto joined the other a finger's length below, dangerously near Roy's pelvic bone.

"Practice makes perfect." Macer droned, and the clank of chains being lifted off the ground echoed in the room. "Your back seems to be in pretty bad shape there, Mustang, so I'll just stick around the front here. Wouldn't want to mess that pretty inking up any more. Looks like Claude had fun with it." He wiggled the stilettos a bit, eliciting a small moan from Roy, and left them rooted in Roy's flesh, satisfied with his discomfort. "Like 'em? I got 'em from Ania. Said they might be useful." The thin chain struck him, snagging on the handles of the small knives, ripping through muscle and sinew. Another enthusiastic lash from the chain was enough to tear one of the stilettos out, and the thin blade flew up into the air, glistening red. Macer caught it and flung it at a nearby wall. "Beautiful."

It took him several more times to duplicate the same act, and one time his hand missed the knife after it had been jerked out of Roy's side. Macer had then thrown it into Roy's body again, narrowly missing his ribs, and proceeded to repeat the process, all the while muttering _practice makes perfect._

"Your endurance impresses me, Mustang. But I expected that from a military man," Macer mused, dropping the chain after the second stiletto had been buried in the wall. "You managed not to pass out during our first test." He looked delighted and circled Roy, avoiding the small pools of blood surrounding him. "And you're still alive. An outstanding grade for you!" Macer crowed. "Though you've still told me absolutely nothing about the location of that damn circle, I think you deserve a little break for now. Don't you boys?" he bellowed to his men.

The Aerugonians grunted in seeming approval. Some were playing cards on scattered tables and chairs, others were drinking from glass bottles, observing the torture, mouths stretched in gruesome smiles, and still others were sleeping on shredded blankets on the ground. On the whole, they looked bored and apathetic.

"The ayes have it! Half an hour, General dear." Macer brushed a hand down Roy's blood-soaked side and clicked his tongue. "This won't do, you're all dirty! I need a clean slate to work with for next time!" He flashed his bright eyes at his broken body and to Roy's abject horror, dragged his tongue over his fingers, licking the fresh blood off. "Such  _spicy_  blood you have, General. Such  _perfection_  in your veins," he ran ravenous eyes down the debilitated man in front of him. "Casey! Uric! Get him cleaned up. I want him immaculate in half an hour!" Macer plodded away, still driveling about the taste of Roy's blood. Roy wanted so much to pass out.  _This man was_ _ **insane**_ _._

Two thin men sauntered over to Roy and unhooked him from the chain he hung from, letting him crash to the ground, writhing from the pain. They kicked him around for a few minutes, and once they were certain he wouldn't try anything, dragged him to one of the corners of the warehouse. Roy felt sluggish and his eyes couldn't keep up with movements anymore. Cold water poured over his skin, seeping into his wounds, old and new, making him feel weaker and weaker.  _Bast…ards_. He ignored the slaps of Casey and Uric as they roughly washed the blood and sweat off of him, and slipped into the loving embrace of unconsciousness, going limp on the muddy floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I'm extremely sorry for putting our beloved Roy through that awful ordeal, but don't worry, everything will get better! Eventually! Thank you for staying with me this far! Once again, if you have any suggestions, comments, likes, dislikes, concerns, anything, please please please message me or send a review! I don't want to be "that writer" who gets all huffy when they don't get reviews or whatever, but feedback is always helpful! Don't hold back if you have something to say! I don't bite :D
> 
> Also, friendly shoutout to justroyai on tumblr! I was browsing through the royai tag (because I have an unhealthy obsession!) and I happened upon her list of fic recs and this story was on it! Thank you thank you thank you justroyai! And everyone who's obsessed with this pairing should check out her blog, it's so good! :)


	10. Desperation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains graphic content not suitable for younger audiences. Please do not read if you're uncomfortable with graphic images and swearing.
> 
> Hello my dear readers! This chapter is a bit dense, especially the first part concerning Riza and the team, so feel free to message me if you have any questions concerning those parts and I will try to clarify!

It had been  _a week_. A fucking  _week_. And Roy still hadn't been found. Riza and the team were now back at Eastern Command, and though the search for the missing General hadn't yet been called off, she was certain General Ranford would call it off anytime soon. The son of a bitch had assumed direct control over Headquarters now, settling in quite nicely in Roy's absence. And Riza detested the man now, his façade of humbled subservience quickly dropped. He really was quite the actor, pretending to look alarmed and weary at the news of Roy's kidnapping. But after a day, he had arrogantly moved into Roy's new office, and had dispersed the team to different departments in Headquarters.

The Fuhrer Grandfather had been calling Riza multiple times after hours that week, his voice dead and flat, trying to assure her that though he couldn't do much to remove General Ranford, he could have her transferred back to Central if she wanted. She had declined politely, cryptically stating that her place was with her superior.

The long week had almost emptied her. On the third day since the kidnapping, she had gotten over the initial shock of Roy's kidnapping and firmed up her resolve, pushing those stupid idealistic thoughts she'd had in Resembool away, and calmly told herself that  _the General was_ _ **not**_ _dead._  She'd do everything in her power to retrieve him from wherever the hell he was. She told herself and Havoc and Breda and Falman and Fuery once that only if she herself saw his cold, hard body would she truly believe him to be dead, and so far, a body had yet to be turned up. With those thoughts coldly comforting her, she returned to work on the fourth day, placed under the command of General Ranford himself ("I hear you're a pretty good sniper, Lieutenant Colonel. You'll watch  _my_  back from now on,") and performed her work perfectly, just like before, just like normal, just like Roy Mustang had never been ripped from her. On the outside, she looked every bit the reserved and strict woman she'd been under the Flame Alchemist, but her insides felt hollow.

"Soldiers lose their lives every day, Lieutenant Colonel," Ranford had told her imperiously before she started work again. "We're very sorry that such an intelligent, and… _young_  General," he bit out, "has perished. Not to mention that his unusual talent with flame alchemy will be sorely missed. But the world must learn to live without your previous superior. We have work to do." She had been dismissed, saluted with blank eyes, and moved on to her duties.  _You idiot_  her mind snapped at Ranford's broad back.  _He's not dead. And he'll burn you when he comes back. Just one snap of his fingers is all it takes. How wrong we were about you._

Roy's things from the Resembool trip lay dumped on her small living room floor, and the ripped remains of his two dress shirts covered her kitchen table, hidden from the Investigations office. The rifle casings and bullets lay on top of the shirts, dried blood staining the small plastic bags they were in. Perhaps they'd be able to analyze the blood that covered the casings in the forensics lab; the dead assassin's body had apparently been disposed of before Armstrong could find it and get a good look at it.

Her friends had been meeting at her place every night trying to decipher the symbols drawn on the shirts, and so far, they hadn't come up with anything substantial. By April eighth, a Saturday, and exactly a week from the Resembool wedding and Roy's kidnapping, they had gone through numerous books from the Eastern library, excluding the restricted alchemy section, since none of them had clearance, and any other books they could find to be remotely related to the strange runes.

" _Alchemy uses geometrical shapes to complete reactions_ ," Falman read, referring to the symbols, and pointing to a page in one of Roy's alchemy books. Riza had a spare key to Roy's apartment, given to her by Roy himself, just in case, and they had brought most of his extensive library from his bookshelves to Riza's floor, and were currently poring over the worn tomes. " _The circle is by far the most important shape and must be drawn perfectly for any reaction to take place. It represents the circulation of energy or matter and must be present in every alchemical reaction. The trigon, or triangle, is the most basic shape used in transmutations. The three points of the triangle represent the Mind, Matter, and Energy. The Mind is situated at the top of the equilateral trigon, Matter at the right, and Energy at the left. This positioning represents the deconstruction of Matter into Energy and the reconstruction of Energy into a different form of Matter, and the Mind's ability to understand this concept._  I have a feeling this isn't really helping," he sighed, tossing the book on top of a large pile of other discarded books. "I feel like I'm studying to become an alchemist."

"It's all we've got right now," Breda sighed and glanced at a large piece of paper tacked to Riza's kitchen wall. The three symbols had been redrawn there, but bigger than on Roy's shirts and as precise as they could draw them. "The trigon is the first symbol. If it's related to alchemy at all, it needs to be equilateral and equiangular." He looked thoughtful.

"Yes yes, we  _know_  that now, Breda. All the elementary alchemy books we've read through say that," Falman said, exasperated, and crossed his long legs. " _The three vertices of the trigon represent the Mind, Matter, and Energy. The arms connecting the vertices represent Understanding or Comprehension, Deconstruction, and Reconstruction_ –"

"Exactly! All these books tell us what the  _components_  of each geometrical shape represent. The  _vertices_  of a trigon. The  _legs_  of a trigon. But what about the trigon as a  _whole_?"

"How do you mean Breda?" Riza asked slowly, unsure of what he was trying to get at. "The parts of the geometrical shape are what make it useful and functional in an alchemical reaction. You have to understand the parts to–"

"–understand the whole. I  _get_  that. But what does each shape represent by itself? Forget about how many sides and vertices it has. Like here," Breda shuffled through another stack and triumphantly pulled out a thin and tattered book titled _A Beginner's Guide to the Xerxian Language_.

"A  _language_  textbook?" Havoc looked incredulous. "You think these symbols are a different  _language_?"

Breda stabbed a finger into one of the pages. " _Circles adorn the Xerxian ruins in copious amounts. As such, they are an important beginning point in understanding the intricate language and culture of Xerxes. For example, circles inscribed on temple walls may represent the Sun, Earth, even the Fifth Element (the Quintessence: Aether or Spirit), depending on the context. On house doors, parts of a family's surname, or well wishes to visitors._ " Breda stopped reading and looked up. His friends' faces were blank at best.

"Everyone knows that the circle is the most important shape in alchemy. But the circle in the Xerxian language has absolutely  _nothing_  to do with  _alchemy_ ," he emphasized.

"So you're saying that each of those symbols," Havoc jabbed at the tacked piece of paper, "are something else other than alchemy shapes?"

Breda shook his head. "Not entirely. They may be  _related_  to alchemy, but instead of figuring out the  _parts_  of each symbol and what they mean, maybe we should look at the  _whole_ shape. What does a  _whole_  trigon symbolize?" he asked, excited about his conjecture.

"Wait. Back up," Fuery tapped the side of his head. "But what if these symbols aren't even related to alchemy at all?"

"That's true," Riza noted, "but one of Roy's gloves had the entire transmutation circle cut out, and another glove was stolen," she sighed. "I'm almost certain whoever kidnapped him is after his alchemy. It's extremely unique and no one else has managed to duplicate it," she added quietly.

"But that doesn't mean those symbols come from alchemy," Fuery furrowed his eyebrows.

"I suppose. But if the kidnappers went so far as to  _repeat_  the message they left in those symbols, I think it's safe to assume that they thought the symbols would be well known to whoever picked up the messages. And that would be us, the people closest to him," she deduced. "Maybe they thought we'd know something about alchemy since we were close to him…" she trailed off, unsure about her conclusion.

"I think I see what you're trying to get it, Hawkeye," Falman nodded. "The kidnappers assume his closest friends will pick up the glove without the transmutation circle and the first symbol message. They also assume that we'd know the kidnapping had to happen because of the General's unique type of alchemy upon seeing the glove. They leave a second symbol message in the hospital room, assuming we'd know how to decipher it because we were so close to the General and may have extensive knowledge of alchemy symbols and runes. Maybe they thought he might have shared his alchemy knowledge with us?" Falman scratched his head.

"Sounds like a lot of assuming on their part," Havoc frowned. "A bit risky to me."

"It does," Riza said dejectedly. "It was a stupid theory anyway." She stood up and walked into the kitchen, ignoring the two shirts on her table. It made her heart heavy just thinking about them. "Coffee?" she asked her friends, already preparing hot water.

Breda sighed and checked his watch. "Why not? It's a little late." He turned back to the book he was perusing. "But why don't we start with assuming that the symbols  _do_  have something to do with alchemy? It's the only common point in all of…whatever this is."

"Might as well," Havoc agreed, and flopped onto Riza's couch. "But I've gotta get going soon. Bec's off in an hour and a half."

"Okay," Fuery rubbed Black Hayate's belly. "And Falman and I have got to get back to the dorms soon too, before curfew."

"So back to the trigon," Breda muttered. "Do we have any books on symbolism? A trigon might represent something cult-related? Chemistry maybe? I think I saw a chemistry book of the General's that we brought over here." He was flipping through the Xerxian language textbook with one hand, and searching through a pile of untouched books on the coffee table with the other.

"I think I saw a book on symbols and motifs earlier, but it didn't look helpful. Just the usual stuff that everyone knows, like religious symbols, pictograms, hearts, stars, animals, that sort of thing," Falman rubbed his eyes and ran a long hand through his graying hair.

Havoc, Fuery, Falman and Breda sat in a few moments of silence, continuing to flip through library books, disheartened at their lack of progress. Black Hayate curled up in a tight ball near Fuery's outstretched legs and growled happily.

"Coffee!" Riza announced, exiting the kitchen with a steaming tray. "I didn't make it too strong, but it should keep us awake for a couple more hours." She glanced at the piece of paper tacked to her wall and sighed heavily. "We're getting nowhere," she said quietly and reached a hand to her neck, feeling the thin scar. It was beginning to ache again.

"We're working as fast as we can, Hawkeye," Havoc soothed from the couch and reached for a mug. "But we're only five people," he paused. "I know time isn't really on our side right now, but the sooner we figure out the symbols, the sooner the General will be back sitting in his chair and bossing us around like old times," he smiled weakly at her in an attempt to raise her spirits, but his eyes were cloudy.

"You're right," Riza said firmly, after a few moments of silence. "Fuery, hand me that book on beginning alchemy." Black Hayate nipped gently at her hand, prompting her to start rubbing his head.

Breda smirked, "The General's probably giving living hell to whoever was stupid enough to kidnap him anyway. He was never one to back down without a fight."

* * *

"You piece of shit," Roy coughed out and closed his eyes, yearning for a rest and ignoring Macer's repeated questions.

"Oh come now, General," Macer said softly. "You know what we want.  _You_  decide when the torture stops and when you're let go."

The past week had been painful, to say the least. Macer and his cronies never left. They delighted in abusing Roy and by now, most of the men in the room had been Macer's "assistants" in the torture. Macer was the most demonic of them all, relishing in his prisoner's agony and gloating over his wounds, and to Roy's horrifying disgust, occasionally consuming small amounts of Roy's blood, still reveling at the  _spicy_  taste. The man was truly deranged.

Roy's body was broken. At least that's how it felt most of the time. He hadn't been allowed to sleep for the seven days he'd been captured, and his kidnappers hadn't bothered to feed him anything substantial either. The only thing that was keeping him alive now was the small amounts of dirty, and sometimes bloody, water they forced down his throat every so often. Macer insisted on keeping Roy clean since he refused to work with a dirty "client," so at the end of every day, he was roughly bathed and dried, and the men who washed him didn't care if they reopened healing wounds. He had also lost a dangerous amount of weight and his body looked gaunt and emaciated, the muscles severely atrophied even in just seven days. Ania came to check on his "progress" for about an hour every day, and it was always the same routine: she would try to seduce him with freedom and medical attention to get him to talk and his response was always, "Not today, bitch." She would sometimes have a go at his back with the whip, always aiming for his tattoo, and he would always refuse to say anything else to her, swallowing mouthfuls of his blood. He refused to give up his pride and his Lieutenant's whereabouts.

The fifth day had been particularly bad. He'd been left lying on the ground after a particularly nasty bit of time with the chains and he'd faked unconsciousness, his head toying with a dangerous idea. Figuring it was worth it, he'd furtively clapped his hands into the bloody dirt and impaled one of the men with a thin spike of compacted earth, wheezing at the exhilaration of performing the transmutation without a circle. He'd been aiming for Macer, but his mind and vision had been too blurry, and the spike had missed the crooked man by a few feet. After the commotion died down, both his hands had been smashed under the flat side of an iron anvil and then bound in front of him with a thin metal chain so tight it was cutting into his skin, turning it raw ("can't risk you performing your circle-less alchemy again eh, General?"). Each finger had also been bound stiffly with strips of rough cloth, almost completely immobilizing them. The Aerugonians had tried to hang him up again like he had been on the first day, but he had passed out almost immediately from the unbearable pain in his hands. They had grudgingly abandoned that idea and instead left him kneeling on the floor, tied to a post in the middle of the room. By the end of that day the majority of his pants had been shredded as well and were cut short around the thighs, and Roy thought sarcastically that his captors had at least been kind enough not to expose the rest of him.

The sixth day, three of his ribs had been broken and Macer had taken to extinguishing his cigarettes on whatever was left of the lacerated skin on Roy's back. He had cried out from the mind numbing pain then, the smell of burning flesh evoking sickening memories of the Ishvalan Civil War, but Macer had just giggled and shushed him. Later in the day (Roy had assumed it was daytime; he couldn't tell, and by now, he supposed he didn't really care) the thin metal chain of his dog tags had been stapled where they hung onto his chest with four two-inch long staples.

Today, though, was slightly different. It appeared Macer was trying for a more diplomatic way of wheedling information and had been questioning Roy for almost six hours now, not touching him at all. Yet. "General,  _sir_ ," Macer bowed in front of him, mockingly, "If you would be so kind as to tell me  _where_  that damned sigil is, you'll be free from our…loving  _hospitality_ ," he eyed Roy, almost sadly, and squatted in front of him.

Roy opened his bloodshot and bruised eyes, and tried to focus them.  _Who was that in front of him?_  His head felt like lead as he forced himself to look up.

"It's usually kind to answer your host, Mustang. We'll try that again," Macer flourished a hand. "My dear General," he began, but paused and looked at Roy and waited. "You're supposed to acknowledge me back," Macer whispered, as if he were a governess instructing her charge in the formalities of dinner etiquette, and not interrogating a tortured prisoner.

Roy squinted at the fuzzy face in front of him. Long nose, black eyebrows, green eyes, short blond hair. Almost feminine voice.  _Ah yes. Macer._

"You gotta work with me here, Mustang," Macer said, frustrated, and pressed a finger on one of the staples in Roy's left pectoral, trying to wedge it in deeper. "The location, if you please."

"I don't know," Roy spat. All he wanted was to rest right now, the questioning had seemed even more tiring than the physical torture, but Macer looked like he had no intention of letting up.

"Sure you do! Or do you need help in jogging your memory?" Macer pressed harder, adding a second finger. "I'm sure we can think of something."

"Don't…know…!" he could feel the intruding metal in his chest, and his heart was beating too fast.

Macer sighed. "I'm being nice today, General. Don't tempt me." He stood up. "I'm going to ask one more time. Then things will get  _ugly_."

" _Bring it on, fucker._ " Roy hissed.

His torturer narrowed his eyes. "Where is the original transmutation circle?" he asked slowly, emphasizing every word. "Think carefully about your answer, General." He stepped backward, waiting.

"I don't  _know_ , asshole," Roy said almost immediately. "Go get one of your stupid slaves to look for it," he breathed heavily.

"I told you to  _think carefully_ , General." Macer walked away and Roy heard the scraping of something heavy being lifted off of one of the wooden benches. "You better listen to me next time. I might not be as merciful."

A metal sledgehammer swung up, and before Roy could register what was happening, it fell onto one of his outstretched legs, breaking the tibia bone. An impressive arc of red soared over his head and splattered in front of Macer, who grinned sadistically. Roy's neck jerked back and he  _screamed_  in raw agony, stars of color bursting in his vision. His wail of pure excruciation bounced off the walls of the warehouse, echoing, and the Aerugonians clapped their hands over their ears, muttering and cursing about the annoying noise their boss was making.

"Tell me!" Macer flung the sledgehammer to the side and it landed with a loud crash against the wall where the two stilettos were still stuck. "Tell me, you military dog!"

Roy let out a heaving sob, and dropped his burning eyes to his left leg. A long splinter of bone was visible, poking through the skin, blood streaming down his calf. He whimpered loudly, a pitiful sound, and his mind exploded in pain again, shrieking for relief. He cried out again, desperately wishing to die just to ease the pain.

"Tell me!" Macer repeated fiercely, pressing a heavy foot on his broken leg, evoking another pathetic whimper. "God damn it, General!  _TELL ME!_ " he screeched, all trace of fake cordiality dropped. He put more weight on Roy's broken leg, and crouched down again, running meaty hands down Roy's side, poking into the stab wounds.

" _Where. Is. It?_ " Macer sounded almost desperate now, but his face was twisted in a mix of bloodlust and glee.

Roy didn't bother answering anymore. The pain had made his mind go cloudy and by now he wasn't sure if he was going to last another day with Macer. He felt tears tracing down his face and couldn't keep his head upright. His breath came ragged and uneven. He tried to twist his body to compensate for his oddly bent leg, but his binds held fast and the pain didn't subside even just a little.

"Let me know when you have something to say, General. I can do this all day," Macer released Roy's broken leg and walked behind him, kicking up dust into Roy's face. "I'm afraid I'm not allowed to…well, I suppose,  _kill_  you, General. Ania said it was the Crow's orders. But the way you sound in such  _pure pain_  is music to my ears! If only she'd let me have a different sort of…fun…with you." He was slashing into Roy's back again, dislodging blood clots and scabs that had formed and Roy flinched each time the knife bit into him, still feeling the burning pain throbbing in his broken leg. The tattooed skin on his back felt particularly mangled, but Macer didn't seem to care. After one last swipe with the knife near the small of Roy's back, he stopped.

"It seems you're a very special guest of the Crow, General," he said, examining the blade of his knife closely. He sighed. "Your body was so… _delicious_ …when we first met, you know, I wanted to take you right then." He sneered greedily at his prisoner. "But, unfortunately, Ania forbade it. Said you'd  _die_  if I had my way with you. And she's right you know," Macer shrugged. Apparently he had given up the intense questioning and was done with the physical torture for now, and he stopped yelling.

Roy choked and bloody saliva dripped down his stubbly chin. He'd been so close to being  _raped_.

"Ah well. Can't have everything though," Macer sighed again, looking thoroughly put out. "Get the dog cleaned up!" he barked to no one in particular. "And fix that leg. It's bothering me, looking like that," he glanced in revulsion at the sharp piece of bone protruding from Roy's broken leg.

Roy barely noticed being dragged away from his post, the stench of filthy Aerugonian stinging his nose, and cried out when water was dumped on him. After he'd been dried, one of the men tried to forcefully shove the piece of bone  _back_  into his leg, and his calf was roughly put into a makeshift splint. Though the pain was still drumming a sickening beat in his leg and back, Roy didn't care anymore. His mind was in a daze and colorful hallucinations painted his faint vision. He was dragged back to his post and bound again, this time with his hands behind his back but still immobilized. It seemed the Aerugonians still feared his alchemical capabilities even with broken hands and fingers.

"General," Macer greeted him, after his bath. "Since I can't seem to get shit out of you, why don't we have something to eat? You look, well, starved," he chuckled, most of the men laughing with him. "You've had a rough day today, so we'll relax and eat. Try to be pleasant, will you? It's only polite." He snapped his fingers.

Roy jolted at the sound and Macer whipped his head around, noticing the sudden movement.  _Snapping_. It seemed a lifetime ago since he'd snapped his own fingers, and Roy longed to use his sixth sense of feeling the atoms coming together in the air and the soft, tickling sensation of alchemical power crackling around his hand. But his mind was slow and still fresh with pain, and he had to force himself to stay awake.  _Macer would continue to punish him if he didn't._

A few men brought up a low table, and set some small plates of grayish-looking food in front of Macer, who was seated on the ground across from Roy. "Some food, General? Surely you must be hungry?" He started eating gracefully, smacking his lips. "Such a wonderful taste," he clucked.

Another plate was set in front of Roy. His head was yanked up and his was mouth pulled open, the unappetizing looking food forced down his throat. He swallowed painfully and coughed, his broken ribs contracting and expanding abnormally.

"I insist you eat everything, General," Macer dabbed at his mouth daintily with a napkin and motioned a hand at his men.

The rest of the food was shoved unceremoniously into his mouth until there was none left, and the table and plates were whisked away after he was done. Roy wanted to throw up.

"Feeling better, General?" Macer rubbed his hands together. "I'm afraid that's all we have time for today. Remember,  _you_  decide when the pain stops," he repeated. "You just have to mention where that pretty circle is, and  _whoosh_ , you're cut loose."

"We'll see about that, Macer," Ania cut in, coming into view with the three hulking men from a week ago trailing her. Her voice sounded strained. "The Crow is growing impatient." She stared at Roy, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "You didn't  _violate_  him did you? I specifically told you not this one," she circled Roy's post.

"I haven't! But  _why_  Ania? Just  _once_? Please?" Macer whined. "He looks so…enticing," he licked his lips and drew closer, an insatiable look on his face.

"I told you, Macer," Ania said sharply. "The Crow doesn't want  _this_  particular guest to be treated that way. Besides, hasn't it ever crossed your mind that he's already been sexually touched by a woman?"

Macer backpedaled, horror in his face. "A woman?" he looked incredulous. "A  _woman_?"

Ania looked bored and rolled her eyes. "Yes, Macer, a  _woman_. Did you ask him? Perhaps he has a girlfriend? A wife even? Not all handsome men are attracted to…other men," she studied her nails. "Though we  _have_  been keeping an eye on the General's main haunts and apartment, and it appears he doesn't have a permanent partner at the moment. Right, dog?" she asked, addressing Roy.

Roy widened his black eyes, momentarily ignoring the dull ache in his broken leg.  _They'd been watching his_ _ **apartment**_ _? Had they broken in? Was his team safe?_ His thoughts raced back to Riza, and he hoped they hadn't found her. Riza had surely been to his apartment since he'd been gone; he'd given her the spare key himself. And if she'd been there, her existence, and importance to Roy, would be made known.  _If it wasn't already._ His pulse quickened, pounding in his neck.

"She just asked you a  _question_ , Mustang," a heavy slap pounded his head.

"Patience, Silas. He looks a bit sick," Ania scolded one of her massive bodyguards. "Have a wife, General? Girlfriend? Or maybe a boyfriend?" she smirked. "We'll find out soon enough." She turned to address Macer again, "Nothing unusual concerning the General has been going on in East City, though I did hear that the search for him is going to be called off in another week. That's much too bad." She flicked a piece of dark hair over a shoulder. "Considering you're in Aerugo, it was futile anyway."

"You bitch," Roy said through cracked lips and feeling faint. He was heaving in gulps for breath now, and for some reason his mind was growing more and more muddled and distracted.

Ania sighed. "I told you to break him, Macer. We need an  _obedient_ dog. What in the world have you been  _doing_  for a week?" she frowned, obviously disappointed in Roy's continuous defiance and attitude.

"The usual," Macer replied, rolling his eyes. "I told you, if you just let me have a go at him…"

"Absolutely not," Ania said sternly. "The Crow gave his orders, and you are to  _heed_  them, Macer, or you know what happens."

"Fine, fine. How much more time do I have?" he said, visibly upset that his request had been denied.

Roy was gasping for air now, and his head was splitting with a pounding headache. He felt more confused than ever and stared in front of him at nothing, trying to remember where he was and what was happening and  _why the hell_  he hurt so much.  _What…? I can't…even…_ He leaned to the side, vomited, and passed out.

Ania screeched. "Macer! What the  _hell_?"

"Calm down, boss," Macer looked pleased. "I just laced his food with a tiny amount of the stuff the Crow gave me a week ago. Said it might be useful."

"Someone clean this up," she growled, and pinched the bridge of her nose looking nauseated. "And  _what_  did he give you?"

Macer grinned. "Arsenic."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone else hate Macer? He has to be one of the meanest and grossest antagonists I've ever written, but I guess a lot of the fun in writing comes with creating nasty characters.


	11. The Elements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I started watching Shingeki no Kyojin or "Attack on Titan" and I am thoroughly hooked. I can't believe I didn't watch it when it came out!
> 
> But anyway, here is Chapter 11! I tried to make it as clear as I could, but there's a lot of stuff going on here, so ask me questions if you need! Happy reading :)

On Friday, April fourteenth, in the afternoon, Ed, Winry and Al returned from Xing, perfectly safe, and all with a noticeable tan. After unpacking and finding places for their wedding gifts in their very own new house, Ed and Winry began preparing a separate room for a permanent visitor.

Winry giggled, elated, and called for Ed to help her in setting up a small crib. "Thank goodness May was there," she said to her husband. "I would have never figured out why I was getting weird cravings in the middle of the night."

"Eh, yeah sure. But alkahestry's always been used for medicinal purposes, and May has so many nieces and nephews, I'm surprised she didn't notice it  _right away_ ," Ed scoffed.

"You're just jealous you didn't see it first," Winry slapped him on the arm playfully.

"Because I don't specialize in  _biological_  alchemy, Win. We've gone through this already," Ed turned away from his wife, tying his long hair up in a ponytail. "So when are we gonna break the news to everyone?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Besides the people Al already bragged to?" Winry asked, a sparkle in her eyes as she remembered Al stepping off the train at the Resembool station shouting, " _I'm gonna be an uncle!_ "

"Yeah, besides them," Ed grinned, hugging his wife from behind and patting her still-flat stomach.

"Well, I've already told Gracia," Winry said a little guiltily, "But she wanted to be the first to know!"

Ed looked playfully offended. "I thought  _you_  said we shouldn't tell anyone until we got back from Xing!"

"Er, well, I kind of got excited," Winry said quickly. "And you were talking to that guy on the train for such a long time I got so bored! Gracia promised she wouldn't tell anyone else," she pleaded.

Ed sighed, but smiled down at her. "Ah, it's fine, Win. If Gracia knows, then the whole world might as well know already then," he said jokingly. "I just don't know how I'm gonna break the news to Mustang. If he hasn't heard already. He's gonna  _flip_." Ed looked rather pleased with himself.

"Well, why don't you give him a call and tell him? Or even better, why don't you go and  _visit_  him in East City? I'm sure he wants to see you're still in one piece," Winry shoved him off of her and walked out of the baby's room. "I need to check up with Mr. Garfiel in Rush Valley. See if my parts came in while we were gone," she called from the kitchen.

"Gearhead," Ed muttered, taking one last glance around the finished room.

"What was that?" Winry called.

"Nothing, nothing."

* * *

Havoc clicked his tongue in frustration. They had all just gotten off of work for the day, and were back in Riza's apartment, still trying to figure out the code.

"I don't  _understand_ ," he grunted to his wife. "The two circle-y looking thing? It's not  _anywhere_  in  _any_  of the books we have, and none of the linguists we checked with knew either." He brushed his sandy hair out of his face.

"I asked Dr. Marcoh about it, and he didn't know as well, but he said he'd look through some of his old alchemy books just in case. He went back to Ishval a few days after the wedding," Riza responded, not looking up from the paper she was studying.

Miraculously, they had managed to find a few useful meanings of a single, upright trigon in some of Roy's other textbooks, and had narrowed it down to one representation they thought was the most correct and likely to be used. Riza had felt stupid when Breda approached her with a book opened to a page on the four classical elements. The four elements each had triangular symbols in alchemy: Air was depicted by an upright trigon with a horizontal line through the middle; Earth, an upside-down trigon with a horizontal line through the middle; Water, an unadorned upside-down trigon; and  _Fire_ , by a  _plain,_   _upright trigon_. And when she'd seen it, her eyes widened and she gasped. "The  _glove_!" she'd exclaimed, and had rushed into her room, returning with one of Roy's unused alchemy gloves. There, on the back of the hand, two large triangles pointed inward at each other, one upside-down and one upright. But the upright trigon had a smaller, but geometrically similar trigon inscribed in it, unadorned and equilateral. She'd seen the design so many times, had committed it to sight memory, but never really looked at the details.  _How could I have missed that?_

All of them had then agreed unanimously that the triangle in the coded message might mean  _fire_  or  _flame_ , but had been disheartened once again when they realized it wasn't really that helpful.  _Of course_  this was about  _flame_  alchemy. The General was the  _Flame Alchemist_.

And that had been the only good news that week. As Riza had sourly predicted, General Ranford had called off the search for Roy and had declared him Missing-In-Action, firmly saying they had nothing to go off of except the coded messages (he had found out Riza had taken the shirts on which they had been written and ordered her to hand them over to Investigations for "further inquiry") and that the General would soon be given a military service even with the absence of a body. The funeral had been scheduled in two weeks. Though it was clearly still too early for such an affirmation of the General's death, there was nothing Riza and her friends could do about it.

Fuhrer Grumman had been notified of Ranford's decision and had no choice but to let the situation be, as the upper brass had voted on the matter and come to the same conclusion as Ranford. Parliament had yet to vote on it, but the Fuhrer had grimly informed his granddaughter that the outcome would most likely be the same and that a new General would take Mustang's place within the next month. " _I can't do anything about the decision, Riza. I am sorry. The rank of Fuhrer doesn't have as much power as it used to,"_  he had told her. Without the military's help in finding Roy, Riza and her friends were truly on their own in their fruitless endeavors. It was stressful to say the least. Fortunately, they still managed to gather small pieces of information via other means: Sheska in the Records Department in Central City, Lieutenant Colonel Alex Armstrong at Central Headquarters, and Dr. Tim Marcoh in Ishval. Their other friends in the military were kept informed of the team's progress as well, but with the official declaration of the Flame Alchemist's untimely death, it was hard to stay optimistic.

Riza continued to silently agonize over Roy's absence. Her stoic attitude the past two weeks earned her approving recognition from Ranford, who declared her "his perfect soldier." She bristled at the memory. " _That's what I like about you Lieutenant Colonel. You don't let your emotions get in the way of work. The General may be dead, but you've moved on from your…frivolous time with the Flame Alchemist. The man had potential, but a_ _ **true**_ _soldier never fails his duties…_ " The lower ranked men placed under her commission who had been working in Ranford's office at the time had scurried out of her way, seeing the murderous look in her eyes after she'd been dismissed.  _I belong to_ _ **no one**_. Her trigger finger had itched to put a full magazine of .50 caliber bullets in the apathetic man's chest and not think twice about it, and Heaven knew she was capable.

But now, at the end of yet another exhausting week, they had moved on to the second symbol in the message: two circles side by side, each with small tails that formed a disconnected flattened oval shape.

The phone rang. Riza jumped from the sudden noise and gave an irritated stare at it. She frowned and checked the time. 1827.  _Did I leave something at work? Please don't let it be Ranford_. The Major General had taken to constantly calling Riza right after work hours for small, irritating things, and it was beginning to border on harassment.

"Lieutenant Colonel Hawkeye speaking" she said cautiously, looking at her teammates who had gone quiet. But her face immediately softened when the caller answered back, and her eyes held a sad look.

" _Hawkeye? Riza?_ " Ed voiced through the receiver. " _It's me, Ed. Just wanted to let you know that Win and Al and I made it back from Xing. Er, safely._ "

"Hey, Ed," Riza smiled, glad to hear that her young friend was back safely. "Thanks for calling. I hope Xing was pleasant."

" _It was! Ling and Lan Fan were very hospitable,"_  he chuckled, " _and we brought back some souvenirs for you and the team._ "

"That's very kind of you, Ed. You know you didn't have to get us anything. But we can come and pick them up in Resembool if you want," she offered, heart sinking. He was sure to ask about Roy soon.

" _Ah no, that's okay. I'll bring them to you in East City instead! I'm actually planning on coming up there in a few days anyway_."

"Only if you have the time, Ed. I know you're busy settling into your new house," Riza said, silently hoping Ed wouldn't hear the anxiety in her voice.

 _"Winry and I actually have something to tell you guys too,_ " Ed paused.  _"Winry's pregnant! We're gonna be parents next year!_ " he sounded so proud and ecstatic over the phone, Riza felt her insides get lighter. They would make wonderful parents. " _We found out three days ago in Xing when May came to us all giddy about something. Apparently she could feel the baby's aura with her alkahestry_ ," Ed babbled.

"That's wonderful, Ed! I'm so happy for you two!" And Riza  _was_  genuinely happy for them. Her spirits lifted just the slightest bit. "Have you guys thought of any names yet?"

" _Well, not really, since we don't know if the baby's gonna be a boy or a girl. Maybe in a few months though. Oh, and er, Hawkeye?_ " Ed asked, irritation laced in his voice. " _Is Mustang with you? I tried calling him at his apartment a few times earlier, when I_ _ **know**_ _he's off duty, but there wasn't an answer. You know where he is?_ "

There it was. The inevitable question. Riza had known it was coming, but it still hit her like a ton of bricks. She briefly debated with herself on whether she should tell Ed or not, but her conscience told her that that wasn't fair; Ed wasn't a child anymore and he didn't need to be sheltered from things like this. He deserved to be told. She sighed heavily, telephone shaking. "Ed, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I don't know where he is. No one does–"

" _What do you mean_ _ **no one does**_ _,_ " Ed cut in sharply, and Riza could hear the aggravation in his voice rising. " _Did he take a private vacation or something? That cocky bastard…_ "

"No, Ed. No. I'm sorry you have to find out this way, but," her voice wavered just the tiniest bit, "the General's been kidnapped, Ed," she bit out.

Silence on the other end. And then,  _"_ _ **What?**_ _He was_ _ **kidnapped**_ _? When? By who?_ " Ed erupted. " _What the_ _ **fuck**_..."

"We don't know. He was shot right after you left the reception two weeks ago, and then kidnapped from the hospital he was treated at later that night. We think the kidnappers are after flame alchemy," she explained as calmly as she could. Falman stood up and pulled a chair over to her, and she sat down gratefully.

" _Roy Mustang, you_ _ **idiot**_ _,_ " she heard Ed breathe into the phone.  _"I'll be there in three hours._ " And the line went dead.

"Wait! Ed! _Ed!_ " Riza called into the lifeless receiver. She sighed and hung up, her hands tense. "Ed's coming," she looked at her friends and bit her lip. "He said he'll be here in three hours."

"He always was an unpredictable kid," Havoc pointed out. "And impulsive." Fuery and Breda nodded in agreement. "But you know he's got a soft spot for the chief," he added, rubbing the back of his head and putting an arm around Rebecca.

"He's not a kid anymore, Havoc," Riza said, sighing.

"He has known him for almost half his life now," Falman pointed out. "It is typical behavior for a person who's lost someone they love. They usually try to seek out other people who were also close to the lost one for comfort during the first stages of grief and mourning, and then–"

"Yes, thank you, Falman," Breda shook his head. "I think we get it. So Fullmetal's coming back to East City, eh? Hope the city doesn't get trashed again," he muttered, recalling the last time Edward was at Headquarters.

"Well if he's coming here, then he might be helpful with this kind of stuff," Fuery suggested, looking hopeful.

Rebecca nodded. "You're right. He might as well be useful when he gets here," she snickered and shrugged.

"He just got back from Xing," Riza took her place on the floor again, looking worried. "He's bound to be exhausted. And Winry's  _pregnant_." She said pointedly. "I'm sure he's stressed enough with a baby on the way already. I know Winry's fully capable of taking care of herself, but I'm not sure he should leave her when they just got back."

"The Fullmetal kid's gonna be a  _father_?" Havoc snorted.

"Just because  _you're_  incapable of fatherly feelings, doesn't mean everyone else is," Rebecca scoffed back. "I'm sure he'll be a fine and devoted father."

"And Hell's about to freeze over," her husband muttered, rolling his eyes.

Rebecca huffed and shoved him. "And this is why I have no chance of having kids." She crossed her arms and her mouth formed a small pout.

"Er, anyway, did the Fuhrer tell Madame Christmas yet?" Falman asked Riza.

She nodded, her eyes sad. "About two days after we got back to East City. The Fuhrer mentioned that her precise location was still unknown, but that she had left instructions with him on how to get a hold of her should something…happen." She thumbed one of the textbooks absentmindedly. "She was devastated. You know how much she worries about…him."

"Oh er, ma'am," Fuery pushed up his glasses up the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat. "I've also had word from Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong that General Armstrong received the news of the General's, er, kidnapping, a few days ago. He didn't tell me exactly what she said, but mentioned that she refused to speak with him further on the matter," he said quietly.

"I hope you were being discreet," Riza said sharply. "We still don't know how much the enemy knows about us or our alliances." She jerked her head in his direction.

"Ma'am! The message was a telegram using Code Gamma 16, ma'am!" Fuery said, looking a bit startled at Riza's sudden change of attitude.

"Fine. Names as well?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Fuery almost saluted.

Riza sighed. "Peace, Second Lieutenant. You just scared me is all. Until we figure out who we're dealing with here, it's best we continue coding our messages to each other and other military personnel outside of East City. We just can't risk any more…accidents."  _But the General's kidnapping_ _ **wasn't**_ _an accident. Was it? You_ _ **let**_ _it happen_.

"We understand, Riza," Rebecca dropped down from the couch and sat next to her friend on the floor, taking the book out of her hands. "We'll all be extra careful and on our guard until Mustang's back. We just need a bit more  _time_."

"Time," Riza breathed, face hardening.

"Er, Hawkeye," Falman said, his eyes wide, and the large, frayed piece of yellowed parchment he was holding was quivering.

"What is it, Falman?" Breda asked, curious. "You look pale."

Falman placed the old parchment on the coffee table in front of them all, his finger placed on something in the lower right quadrant. They all leaned in to get a closer look.

The third symbol from the coded message was there, the perfect circle with three inscribed dots grouped together in the middle.

"Oh! You've found it!" Fuery exclaimed, excited about the discovery.

"Well, does it mean anything?" Riza peered closer, trying to read what was written around the symbol. "And what is this document?"

"It's an 1836 Amestrian article on its political relationship with Aerugo," Falman said quickly, still looking white. "I guess it was accidentally grabbed from the library when we were pulling books off the shelf near the Political Sciences section."

"So what does it  _mean_?" Breda asked, impatient.

Falman pointed again to the document, right next to the symbol. One word was printed there in tall, grim-looking capital letters.

 _DEATH_.

* * *

"I suppose you want to know  _why_  we're looking for that damned sigil, General," Macer said, looking down his nose at his prisoner. "I might as well tell you. You're not going anywhere for a  _very_  long time anyway."

Another week of torture had passed. And although every day Roy wanted to, he hadn't died yet, and the pain continued, seeping into his core until it almost defined him. He and Macer had "meals" together almost every day now, with Macer's men forcing him to eat. Two more of his ribs had been broken and his left leg had been broken again; it was now attempting to heal itself at an odd angle, and jutted out awkwardly from the rest of his body. Macer had slowly torn out the four staples in his chest, and had re-stapled his dog tags almost right after, after he had licked the old ones clean. He had also resorted to beating him with glass bottles, not caring if they broke when they collided with Roy's skin. Bits of broken glass were now embedded in his sides and back, streaming little rivulets of dried blood. Infection was imminent.

Claude had made a visit during the week as well, but Macer had told him that he wasn't welcome anymore, and had flicked the whip at him. Undaunted, Claude had crouched in front of Roy, gloating at his pain and blood, and had cuffed him around the head. Macer kicked Claude away, muttering about "soiling his perfection."

By now, Roy had lost all feeling in his hands, and he had noticed his fingernails had started to form white spots; he had constant stomach cramps, was vomiting almost every hour, and had a strange metallic taste in his mouth all the time. He had recognized this particular set of symptoms almost immediately: slight arsenic poisoning. As an alchemist, he knew the properties of the element by heart, and tried to remember its treatment and prognosis.  _The best treatment for chronic arsenic ingestion is ch…chalk? Chel…chel…What's the damn thing called?! Chel…chilly? Chelation? CHELATION. Chelation uses agents that are able to sequester harmful chemicals and irritants away from the bloodstream and out of the body…these agents are available at any hospital. If not treated immediately…a patient suffering from chronic arsenic ingestion may fall into a short coma…will eventually die from poisoning._ He squeezed his eyes shut. So Macer had been feeding him small amounts of arsenic every time he forced food down his throat, and making him hopelessly sick. He felt the urge to throw up again but forced it back down.  _On the bright side_  he thought dimly  _I'll be slightly immune to arsenic in the future. If I have a future._

He glared up at Macer, wobbly from the poisoning, silently willing him to continue. If the sick asshole was gonna talk and spill his master's secrets, why not let him?

"A  _long_  time, General. At least until you tell us the location," Macer looked almost hopeful for a second, but his face darkened again. "And from what you've shown us, well, it's not looking too good for you, is it?" He stroked his bare chin thoughtfully. He nudged Roy's broken leg, making him wince jerkily. "You see, my boss is an alchemist too, you know, but not one of those second-rate ones. Oh no, he's far better than  _you._ " He giggled, now tapping a foot on Roy's broken leg. "So far, he's  _appropriated_  the…secrets, I guess you would call them, of Earth, Wind, and Ice alchemy. You can see why he's taken an interest in your little gloves." he shrugged. "Apparently, he has a debt to repay and time's running out."

 _So he needs Flame Alchemy to repay his debt?_  Roy almost laughed.  _This_ was why he'd been kidnapped? _This_  was what he was being tortured for? Because some stupid bastard was in trouble with his boss?  _This is ridiculous_. He thought it had at least been for something a little more dire, considering what he had gone through. He had gone up against  _Father_  for heaven's sake; this Crow guy seemed like a half-dead  _butterfly_  compared to that Homunculus.

Macer cackled, but then shrugged. "Took a long time in figuring out how to get a hold of you General, you're a hard one to catch! But we found out that Fullmetal brat was getting married in that stupid country town and you  _had_  to be attending. You were  _so_ close to our border, we just couldn't resist. So here you are. Finally." He released Roy's leg, standing up straight and drew something from his pocket. "I also have something you might recognize. Something to motivate you to remember where that blasted transmutation circle is. Want it back?" he dangled something white in front of Roy's battered face.

His eyes took a while to adjust.  _What the hell? …is that? Where…need to…out…get out…leave…Riza…glove…glove…GLOVE._ His incoherent mind yelled at him, and his eyes dilated to black points.  _His glove!_  Macer flaunted his alchemy glove in front of him and started to do a little dance, like a small child playing keep-away. "So you recognize it, eh? You want it back?" Macer chuckled, happy with himself. "Huh? Want it back?" He sounded childish and immature. "All it takes is _one_  word, and it's yours again."

Roy tried to move his arms from behind his back, eyes focused as best he could on his glove, pulling at the chains and rattling them, but to no avail. He was bound too tightly and his hands were useless. He felt like throwing up again and coughed violently.  _My glove! I've got to get it back! Give it to me! I'll burn you all to bubbling grease! GIVE IT TO ME!_

"Sorry General. Can't give it back unless–"

"–unless the  _location_ ,  _Roy_ Mustang." A deep and raspy, but soothing, voice entered the room, expensive dress shoes crunching on the dirt floor. "And I  _know_  you know it," it stopped in front of Roy.

"Sir!" Macer blurted out, his face surprised but submissive. He shoved Roy's glove behind his back, trying to conceal the fragile weapon. "I didn't know you'd, ah, that you'd be visiting us today. Didn't know you were back! Business going on as usual, still working on it, sir, you know the deal, it takes time with these kinds of things, especially with ah, er, this, um, this kind of, er, guest, he's a stubborn one! But I'm sure Ania's been keeping you updated on our, um, our activities down here, I hope we haven't been bothering you, sir, it's just–"

"Shut your trap, Macer," the voice snapped again, and Macer immediately stopped rambling and clamped his mouth in a hard, straight line. "I know what you've been doing and I don't appreciate the racket it's causing. Get out of my sight."

Roy dared a timid look up in front of him, dull eyes partially hidden behind his dirty and unkempt hair. A fairly tall and well-built man in his late fifties stood before him; his short black hair was streaked with gray and neatly slicked back, and he was dressed in a clean and sharp black evening suit, looking disapprovingly at Macer, who was cowering, his haughty demeanor vanished. The man's cold and piercing eyes were narrow and slanted.  _Possibly Xingese?_ The other Aerugonians had all stopped what they were doing and were now standing in a straight line at attention.  _Was this their "boss?" Was this guy the Crow?_

"Er yessir!" Macer squeaked and backpedaled, tripping over his own feet. The tall man snatched Roy's glove from Macer as he dashed past him and cuffed him over the head. "What are you doing with this?" he boomed. "How  _dare_  you take this from the Nest!" he bellowed, catching Macer upside the head again. "This is the  _last_  one, and you're just carelessly  _parading_  around with it in front of the Flame Alchemist? Fool!" he smacked Macer a third time, knocking him off his feet. Macer scrambled around in the dirt next to Roy and shot him a deadly look. Roy smiled grimly, ignoring his burning leg, and stuck out his tongue.

"Leave!" The older man roared. "Get your ass to Ania.  _She_  will deal with you."

Macer squealed again and bolted from the room, leaving a small dust cloud.

The older man tucked the glove into a pocket on the inside of his jacket. "I'm terribly sorry, General. Macer's always been…difficult." He straightened his jacket and brushed off invisible lint. "Though he is the best at what he does, he tends to get a little out of hand and not follow orders. I'm sure you can relate, being a military man and all," he waved a hand and started pacing in front of Roy. "I was busy at the time you arrived two weeks ago, and I apologize for not introducing myself earlier; I had business elsewhere. I am known as the Crow."

Roy cocked his head and retched.

The Crow looked at him, bored, and rolled his dark eyes. "Ah yes, arsenic does wonderful things to the body, does it not? But you must already know that, being an alchemist." He sighed loudly. "I suppose we'll have to take you off of that now, you look rather…ill. I did not intend for your condition to get this far." He paused. "Ania was kind enough to tell me the extent of your injuries, and I would much rather treat you than torture you. However, you possess something that I desire most deeply.  _Flame Alchemy_."

Roy heaved his head up to the Crow, leaning to one side. "I don't know," he rasped, already anticipating the questioning. This man had a more menacing aura than Macer, and he felt unnerved by the Crow's presence.  _This man exuded sheer power and dominance._

"Now now, General. You  _do_ know where the original transmutation circle is. Perhaps I can give you more cause to  _remember_ , since I hear you've been difficult to work with. Water!" he barked behind him, and one of the Aerugonians leapt into motion, bringing his master a large jug of clean water and uncorking it; the Crow knelt down and took both hands out of his pockets. He suddenly clapped his palms together, and placed them over the opening of the jug, earning a few quizzical stares from the men behind him. "I hate to do this to you, General." Streaks of bright blue alchemical energy flashed, blinding Roy's sensitive eyes, and the Crow flung out a hand.  _No transmutation circle? No transmutation circle!_ The blue flashes ripped through the air and sped towards Roy, who tried in vain to avoid it, but something deathly cold struck his side.  _He's seen the Truth!_  His mind screamed. He noticed that the Crow looked somewhat pleased with himself, and he lolled his head to see what had hit him.

A long dagger of ice protruded from his right side, punching a bullet-sized hole in his skin. "You bitch," he gasped, going into shock. "You  _fucking bitch!_  I don't know!" His insides were burning and freezing at the same time, and his blood was staining the ice shard red, its heat hissing against the cold.

The Crow didn't answer, still holding out his hand. More blue light crackled and the dagger of ice melted rapidly in him, now boiling with intense heat. Roy screamed out, a deafening screech echoed through the warehouse, prompting the Aerugonians to cover their ears. He was being boiled from the inside  _alive_.

"The whereabouts, General, if you please," the Crow said calmly.

Roy just cursed at him, " _I DON'T KNOW!"_  he bellowed; the boiling water was melting the outside skin, swollen blisters forming around where the ice had pierced him. Another ice dagger slammed into him on the opposite side, again melting and beginning to boil and steam.

"The  _location_ , General," the Crow repeated. "You  _do_ know, and I would greatly like for you to tell me."

The pain was  _unbearable_. He could barely see. He gasped for air, but that made the pain even worse. He threw back his head and howled in impossible agony, the sound bouncing off the thin walls. His mind was screaming at him to  _tell this man_ _ **something**_ _. Anything._ _ **Anything**_ _to make the pain dissipate._ _ **ANYTHING!**_   _GODDAMNIT SAY SOMETHING YOU IDIOT!_

" ** _HYDROGEN!_** " he shrieked. " _ATOMIC N-NUMBER ONE…DIATOMIC NONME-METAL…ATOMIC MASS O-ONE P-POINT ZERO ZERO N-N-NINE FOUR…THREE IS-ISOTOPES!_ "

The Crow frowned and stopped his alchemical reaction. Had he heard correctly? Was that…

" _Helium…atomic number two…noble gas…atomic mass four point zero zero two s-six zero two two…nine isotopes…Lithium…atomic number three…al-alkali metal…atomic mass s-six point nine four one two…t-two isotopes…Beryllium…at-t-tomic number four…alkaline ear-earth metal…atomic mass nine point one two one eight th-three one f-f-five…t-twelve isotopes…Boron…atomic number five…_ " Roy whimpered, gasping every few words.

Apparently it was the periodic table of elements. The Crow sighed regretfully and released Roy from the boiling water, lowering his hand, "Perhaps I pushed him too hard." Steam rose in gentle curls around Roy's body, and as he was relieved, he slumped against his post, still reciting the table. He instinctively edged closer to his post away from the Crow, shaking violently and moaning.

"You broke 'im, sir," an Aerugonian snickered, and the rest followed suit, trying to contain their amusement.

The Crow was silent. He knew exactly what he had done. After serving in the military himself for a large part of his life, he still remembered what had been pounded into his own head during the lessons on torture, should a soldier be captured.  _The enemy will make you talk eventually; find something repetitive and memorize it. The military's secrets are to be kept secret._  It was fitting then, the Crow mused, that Mustang chose the elements. An alchemist to the very core.

" _Oxygen…atomic number eight…ch-chalcogen…atomic mass fifteen point nine nine n-nine f-four…three is-isotopes… Fluorine…atomic n-n-number nine…halogen…atomic m-mass eighteen point nine nine ei-eight four zero three o-one six three…s-six…_ "

The Crow's prisoner continued to chant, going through the elements one at a time. "Leave this place," he said sternly to the line of men behind him, still watching Roy, and they shuffled behind him, muttering. "I must speak with the General alone." The men tramped out of the warehouse, avoiding the mess around Roy's post and the large room was suddenly very empty.

"General," he sighed. "You disappoint me. I was hoping for the location today, but in your current state…" he trailed off. "Anything else for me?"

" _…atomic mass twenty-eight point zero eight f-five one…twenty-f-four isotopes…_ "

"I suppose not," the Crow crouched down and reached out to Roy, who wide eyes were unfocused and unseeing, his body in shock from the sudden pain and torture. The older man cupped his face softly with a large but slender hand, feeling the sharp jaw line, and gently wiped away some blood and dirt with the pad of his thumb. "Such beautiful eyes you have, so much like your mother's. So much like your poor mother's," he said quietly. "My son."

" _…twenty-f-four isotopes… Arg-g-gon… atomic n-number eight-t-teen…noble g-gas…atomic mass thirty-n-nine point nine f-four eight one…twenty-four is-isotopes… Pot-t-tass-ssium…_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, message me or review if you have questions, comments, suggestions, or just want to say hi and chat! I'm always up for weird talks about the characters I love (and don't)!


	12. To Be a Father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. So. I finally finished watching and reading Attack on Titan (including the new chapter that was posted today, O - M - G) and I now live for both Roy Mustang and Captain Levi (what a sexy, sassy little jerk). But anyway, my fangirl heart has now burst with so much love and admiration for these two men (I can't believe I'm practically in love with fictional characters) and I need serious help. So if anyone wants to chat and swoon about either of these fine specimens of attractiveness, message me on Tumblr and we'll fangirl over them together haha.
> 
> But enough of that (maybe ignore that last paragraph), go ahead and read :)

Ed stepped off the train in East City and hailed a cab to Riza's flat, muttering to himself the entire way. "You okay kid?" the cabbie asked him, peering at him through the rearview mirror.

"Fine, fine," Ed mumbled absentmindedly.  _That damn Colonel!_  He started.  _General! Ack, General! You stupid ass!_

"Alright then," the cabbie shrugged and pulled to a stop in front of an apartment building.

Ed made his way to the Lieutenant Colonel's door number and knocked rapidly. Riza pulled open the door, her usual bright eyes tired and worn.

"Hey Edward," she gave a small smile. "You didn't have to come you know," she said softly and let the young man in.

"Yeah, well, Mustang went and got himself kidnapped at  _my_  wedding. I can't help but feel a little responsible," he lowered his eyes.

"You're  _not_  to blame, Ed," Riza shut the door and they stood silently in the small foyer. "We didn't anticipate any of this," she said, trying to push a little more confidence in her voice.

"You know what I told him at the ceremony?" Ed blurted, visibly upset. "I told him he was pretty much the only father I've known for most of my life. He may be a flippin' bastard most of the time, but  _he doesn't deserve this!_  He was there for my State Alchemist exams and assessments, and he was there during the whole fiasco with the Philosopher's Stone!  _He_  was there! Not…not…n-not  _Hohenheim_!" he broke out, hands shaking. "Hohenheim didn't even  _try_  to act like my father," he said, clearly still angry about his biological father's earlier disappearance and sudden reappearance.

"Hohenheim helped to defeat Father," Riza reminded Ed. "He was there for you and Al. I'm sure he didn't want to be parted from his sons," she sighed.

"But he left  _anyway_."

Riza was silent. She knew she'd never be able to convince Ed that his father didn't intentionally desert him. Apparently the betrayal still ran deep.

"Whatever. This isn't about Hohenheim anyway," Ed said, unaware of Riza's uneasiness. "Tell me everything."

They walked back to the living room where the rest of the team was still poring over texts. They took turns filling Ed in, occasionally asking him about his vacation in Xing and about the baby on the way, and showed him the coded message and what they had deduced out of it.

"We're pretty sure it's alchemical. The upright trigon is a rune for fire," Breda pointed to their notes. "And we found this symbol  _here_ ," he produced the old manuscript that Falman had been studying when he had found the third symbol, "Which apparently means 'death' in Aerugonian."

Ed frowned and pulled the coded message closer to him, leaning over it. His face paled and he clenched the piece of paper in his hand, almost tearing it. "You're  _sure_  these are the  _exact_  symbols that were left in the hospital and on the shirts? You're  _positively sure?_ " he looked up to their astonished faces.

"We're quite sure," Riza said. "Unfortunately, I had to give relinquish the General's shirts on which the messages had been given, but I'm absolutely sure those are the  _exact_  markings," she frowned and patted Black Hayate's head, earning her a lick.

"I'm so glad I came," Ed breathed. "Almost no one knows this language anymore." He rubbed his face. "But you're almost right," Ed said quietly, placing the paper on the table. "It  _is_  an alchemical code, but this one was only practiced in Amestris for a few years when the country was still developing. Teacher taught it to Al and me," he breathed, remembering his lessons with Izumi. "Alchemists were prosecuted because of their powers, so they used alchemical codes to communicate with each other to share notes or warn their peers about attacks and such." He pointed to the trigon. "The four classical elements each have their own alchemical symbols, and this is the one for  _fire_. However, there were other symbols for fire that were used much more commonly, but this one,  _this one_  is the symbol for  _pure fire_ , the  _power_  of fire, or the  _creation_  of fire." He moved his finger to the second symbol, the two circles. "This one is astrology-based." Ed pulled a face. "Not a  _real_  science. In my opinion, at least. Do you have a star chart?"

Havoc looked at him, puzzled, and said, "No…I don't think we grabbed anything related to astronomy," he shook his head.

" _Astrology_ ," Ed corrected, frowning.  _Non-alchemists_.

"Oh wait, I think the General has one," Fuery shuffled through a stack of papers by Falman's side and pulled out a worn map of the skies. Atmospheric lines and constellations dotted the paper.

"During a particular time of the year, one main constellation will be in the sky at all times, and they're called the astrological signs. For example, the constellation  _Scorpio_  is present during the twenty-third of October to the twenty-second of November," Ed said slowly, pointing the constellation  _Scorpio_  on the map, making sure that everyone was keeping up. When no one stopped him, he went on, "Each astrological sign has its own symbol.  _Scorpio's_  is this," he grabbed a pen and drew a lower case 'm' but ended the letter with an arrow pointing to the right. "The symbol in the message is one of these," Ed tapped the coded message.

"So you're saying that the middle symbol isn't even alchemy-based?" Falman squinted his eyes.

Ed sighed. "Er, no. When this language was in use, alchemy was still strongly connected with astrology, and used some of its principles and concepts. That's not the case anymore, though, and alchemy is now its own science. Astrology has become somewhat…obsolete, and is really just used today for omen-predicting. Anyway, this symbol is used for the constellation  _Cancer_ , which presides over the time from June twenty-first to July twenty-second."

"It's a date?" Rebecca asked, confused, and ran a small hand through her dark hair. "Maybe a warning?"

"It's possible," Ed said, "but I don't really know."

"Maybe it's a time frame," Riza suggested, mind bubbling with possibilities. But there, always in the deepest depths of her head, was  _Roy_.  _Was he even still alive? It's been two weeks already. Are we searching for a corpse?_  "The kidnappers seemed to have been after Flame Alchemy. Perhaps that's the time during which they want it or…"

"Death." Ed grimaced. Riza looked at where he was pointing. The last symbol: the circle with the three dots in the middle. "That's not an Aerugonian rune. It's an ancient alchemical symbol for death that's still used today. The Aerugonians may have adopted it as well." he pounded a fist on the coffee table.

"Death." Riza echoed.  _There's no hope_. She glared at the message under Ed's clenched hand, willing it to burn and shrivel.  _I've failed you, General. I can't keep my promise to you_.

"We've figured out the message?" Breda said lamely, closing the book in his lap.

"Yes, we have," Riza said faintly. She touched a hand to the pistol on her back.  _That_  was what the message said?  _That_  was what they had been laboring over?  _A death notification?_

"But  _who_?" Ed said angrily. " _Who?_ "

"We're still checking. I sent a sample of the lipstick that was on one of the shirts to the forensics lab at Headquarters, and I've been looking in the Records department for the history of the usage of the rifle casings, military and civilian," Riza answered, silently contemplating her future.  _If the General's gone, what do I do? I can't stay under Ranford forever._  "So far, there have been no results."

"Who would have knowledge of a dead Amestrian language? Especially an  _alchemical_  one?" Havoc asked, still astounded at their sudden progress. The Fullmetal kid had really delivered.

"I'm not sure," Ed said, pulling at his golden hair. "Maybe Al might have an idea…" he mentioned thoughtfully, thinking of his brother and his alkahestry. "He may have picked up something from Xing when he was there two years ago."

"So what we have so far is: whoever kidnapped the Chief wants the secret to Flame Alchemy, hence the trigon, between the dates of June twenty-first and July twenty-second, hence the astrological sign, or else, death, hence the circle symbol," Breda summed up, bringing everything together.

"I think that's how it's supposed to be read," Ed acknowledged, nodding at Breda's astuteness. "Mustang's most likely still alive, but being held hostage until the secret is given up to the kidnappers. He's probably still alive," he breathed out, sounding weak.

"But we don't know  _where_  or by  _whom_ ," Falman lowered his head, twiddling his long fingers.

"We'll just have to keep working to find out," Riza said severely, her eyes flashing. "Fuery, notify the Fuhrer what we have found, and make sure the news gets to Madame Christmas. Keep in contact with Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong and our friends in Central!" she commanded sternly, suddenly standing up. The rest of the team snapped to attention in front of her.

"Yes Ma'am!" Fuery saluted, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses.

"Breda, get in contact with Dr. Marcoh in Ishval. Tell him about the coded message. Are you able to take time off?"

"Yes Ma'am," Breda stood stiffly in front of her, anticipating her request.

"Please escort Edward back to Resembool tomorrow morning," Riza nodded at Ed, who inclined his head sharply, wondering about her request.

"Ma'am!"

"Falman! Check up with Sheska in the Central Records Department. I want that history of the .223 rifle cartridges as soon as possible. Check the forensics labs as well, please," she commanded, the orders rolling strangely off her tongue.  _This was the General's job_.

"Ma'am!"

"Havoc! Make sure our weapons arsenal is fully stocked with the maximum ammunition. Rifles and handguns. We might be getting our hands dirty soon," she paused and looked around the room at her friends. "Keep your weapons on you at all times," she said, worry in her voice. "The General needs us to be continuously prepared. Once we find out who the kidnappers are, we're going in."

"Ma'am!" Four voices echoed back at her and she sat down again, tired. Black Hayate gave a short bark, excited by the commotion.

"Er, Hawkeye," Ed neared her and crouched down. "You know I  _don't_ –"

" _Yes_ , you do, Ed," she turned to face him. "Just because the General is gone for the moment, doesn't mean you're free from his protection," she placed a motherly hand on his shoulder. "We're still responsible for keeping you and your family safe.  _Please_  Ed."

Ed looked at the woman before him. Riza's eyes had lost their normal fierce spark and she looked like she had lost weight; her clothes hung on her petite frame a bit more loosely than before, and her chest was shaking. Riza Hawkeye was one of the strongest women he knew, along with his wife and alchemy teacher, and he'd never seen her this way in the ten years he'd known her. She looked broken. Beaten.  _Hopeless_  his mind whispered to him.

Al had told him of the incident in the Third Laboratory. The Lieutenant Colonel had cried,  _sobbed_ , when Lust had gleefully told them of Mustang's apparent death.  _"The only time I've ever seen her cry,"_  Al had said,  _"and she had wanted to die right there with him."_  The lengths to which Hawkeye would go to protect her superior were astonishing, including disobeying direct orders from the upper brass, and when she'd been told it hadn't been enough, she'd lost the will to continue on without him. Ed had been skeptical at first (" _Hawkeye_ _ **never**_ _cries, Al, she's the toughest woman there is"_ ), but over the years, he'd noticed the unnatural fondness with which Hawkeye and the General treated each other.  _They loved each other_  he had realized a few years ago, wondering why he hadn't seen rings on either of their fingers.  _She loves him_  his mind repeated again. He was still staring at Riza, and his heart wrenched to see her like this.  _She doesn't deserve this_  he thought, remembering his meeting with her all those years ago when he came to her apartment to return the handgun he'd fought Envy with. He felt pity boil inside of him.  _Neither of them do._

"Alright," he said at length, thoughts still reeling from watching Riza. "It's no big deal. Do you mind if I come back to East City later this week? Al and I may be able to help with…stuff," he ended stupidly, not knowing what he'd be able to do.

But Riza just smiled and removed her hand. "Of course. Breda will escort you and Al back," she said, knowing Breda had heard her. "Where will you be staying?"

"Probably just one of the military hotels in East City. I think I passed one on the way here," he noted, and stood up, brushing his bangs out of his face. "The Fuhrer still hasn't let me off the hook with the State Alchemist 'program,' so I still have my certification," he pulled out the silver pocket watch and grinned. "Knew it would still come in handy."

"Do you need a ride?" Riza asked, smiling back. Ed definitely brightened up the gloomy room.

"Nah, I'm okay, it's not far, so I'll just walk with the rest of the guys," he gestured to Fuery and Falman, who were packing up to go back to the military dorms.

"Okay," Riza said. "I'll see you in the morning to see you off. Watch your back, Ed."

"We'll find Mustang, Hawkeye," Ed made for the door and turned to face her to say goodbye. "We'll find him and  _destroy_  those sons of bitches who kidnapped him. We'll make them _pay_."

* * *

Roy hadn't heard the Crow's admission and had passed out soon after. He lay slumped against the post he was tied to, his breathing finally even, and his ruined chest steadily rising and falling; the Crow knelt next to him and continued to stroke his cheek and face. He gently touched Roy's black and puffy eyes.

"Your beautiful eyes," he said quietly to Roy, even though he couldn't hear him. " _Your mother_  would have been so proud," he continued, and moved his hand down Roy's bare chest, stopping at his bloody dog tags. "So proud of what you have become, my son. Such a  _powerful_ man indeed." he flipped over one of the two tags and leaned closer to read the engraved letters on the thin metal. He frowned in confusion.  _R. Hawkeye: Lieutenant Colonel – Identification # GFL-759_  he read. "Hawkeye," he repeated, testing the name out, and lifted a dark eyebrow. Who was this Hawkeye? And why did Mustang have his dog tag? The name sounded somewhat familiar though; he was sure he'd heard it before. He turned over the other dog tag:  _R. Mustang: General – Identification # UVC-274_. So the General had one of the dog tags of another soldier. A dead comrade perhaps? He'd heard news about the great Flame Alchemist in the Ishvalan Civil War and briefly wondered if a close friend had fallen on the battlefield. Whoever this Hawkeye was, he'd find out.

Roy twitched in his unconsciousness, jerking the Crow out of his reverie. Perhaps he would try a different form of persuasion to force the General to forfeit the secret to Flame Alchemy. The Heart of Summer was fast approaching and he needed to have the secret then. He'd force it out of Roy, no matter what.

He moved behind Roy and quickly untied him from the post, ignoring small nicks from the glass embedded in the man's back.  _Macer, that idiot_  he scowled.  _Don't get carried away. I need him sane and his body intact_ he'd told the torturer _. Come to me if he proves difficult_. But Macer hadn't come to him, and though he knew what the man was capable of, he assumed Macer would listen. He sighed inwardly. This could be a potential problem if Roy didn't snap out of it. His eyes narrowed at the tattoo that marked the shoulder.  _You stupid boy. We'll have to get rid of that._ He moved Roy's hands into his lap and began to undo the strips of cloth that bound the fingers; the skin was bruised and swollen with a deathly sheen, not having been exposed to the air for a week, and the palms and backs of the hands were mottled.  _His mother's hands_  he thought to himself. A faint scar on the back of Roy's right hand caught the Crow's attention.  _A transmutation circle?_  He traced it with a finger.  _Ah. A Flame Alchemy circle. What idiotic thing did you do to get that then General?_

Medical attention was needed immediately, and not just for the hands. The broken leg would have to be reset and the knife wounds would have to be treated for infection; his burns needed to be cared for as well, and he looked down at Roy's body. This was the first time in over thirty years that he had seen his child, and he frowned, disappointed in what he saw.  _I did what I had to be done. The boy had needed to be taught a lesson. Pain always taught well._  A few small pangs erupted in his chest as he took in the broken body.  _Was he feeling remorseful? Regretful? Love?_

He shook his head.  _No_ he thought sharply to himself. There was no place for love or regret in what he was trying to achieve. Son or not, Roy was an asset and no more.

When the Crow was done unwrapping Roy's broken hands, he stood and lifted him from the bloody ground, careful not to disturb the broken left leg. He was much too thin and his bones jutted out sharply, stretching the cut skin, and he was almost unrecognizable as the attractive and muscular man in the pictures and newspaper clippings the Crow had pinned up in his living quarters.

"Roy," he breathed, his face taking on a not-quite-so-serene look as he held the injured man. "You may still be useful to me yet."

* * *

The General started awake.  _Riza!_  His brain immediately went to his subordinate, wondering wildly if she was still alive. His dreams had been haunted by the Ishvalan Extermination Campaign, blood red staining the inside of his eyelids, broken corpses and parts of bodies burned into his mind, and the dust and smoke bringing a heavy burning stench to his nose. Riza had been there too, blood on her exhausted face, holding her sniper rifle limply. " _Release me_ ," she had pleaded, gripping the white coat of his uniform, a State Alchemist at war. " _Major Mustang, I beg you!_ "He had called out to her, reaching for her, but she had gotten further and further away from him, and his fingers snatched on nothing. He had run toward her, trying to get closer, but Macer had stopped him with an evil face and giggled, "Mine." But it had just been nightmares, and he turned his head slowly, taking in his surroundings.

A dim room, lit only by a few candles by his bed, yawned before him, shadows flickering off the stone walls. The room was bare besides the nightstand with a small mirror over it, a medium-sized chair, and the bed he was in. A bed! He briefly remembered the hotel bed he had slept in during the visit to Resembool. It felt like years ago. He sighed deeply, feeling the clean sheets against his bare skin and the soft mattress welcoming his body. He rubbed his eyes.  _Where am I?_   _Wait…not this again. A different kind of torture?_  He tried sitting up, but his stomach wouldn't let him and he flung the sheets off of him, wincing at the sudden movement.

He had been treated for his injuries. He had recently been bathed, his hair cut to its normal length, and his face smooth and clean-shaven. His dog tags were no longer stapled to his chest and they hung proudly around his neck like always, the cold metal comforting him.  _Riza's dog tag!_ He clutched the chain, hoping she was safe. Whoever had cared for him must have noticed that one of his dog tags was not his, and he closed his eyes, silently berating himself for being so careless.  _It will be my fault if she's killed_  he thought as he suddenly remembered the Promised Day again. Her shocked face as her throat was slit was seared onto his brain, and the immeasurable guilt he had felt then still tormented him.  _Human transmutation?_  He remembered the deranged doctor's terrible request.  _Just one tiny transmutation, Colonel. That's all it takes. Your precious woman is dying._  He could hear the sneer and triumph in the doctor's bloodthirsty voice, gloating over the inevitable choice.  _You could save her._   _All you have to do…_  Roy slammed a fist onto the bed, still ashamed at his inability to do absolutely  _nothing_ as he had watched his Lieutenant bleed out in front of him. And he'd been so close to doing it too. So close to performing that transmutation, throwing away his dream,  _their_  dream, just so she'd be able to live at least one more day, until  _she_  had stopped  _him_. She'd been  _dying_ and she'd scolded him with just one look.  _Don't you dare_  she'd glared at him fiercely, knowing full well that he would have done it. He smiled in brief tranquility, recalling how strong and  _so Riza Hawkeye_  she'd been that day.  _That was his Lieutenant. Still thinking and worrying about_ _ **him**_ _even when he was too weak to save her._  He'd never be able to repay her, and he might not get the chance to even  _try_  now.

The knife wounds around his side from the beginning of Macer's torture had been stitched up, and were healing vigorously; his left leg was in a thick cast, and the pain seemed deadened. The wounds in his other leg from the boning knife had also been cleaned and stitched, and his torso was completely wrapped in medicinal cloth, closing the deep lacerations and burn wounds. He felt larger stitches in the skin on his rib cage, presumably from surgery to repair the broken ribs. He sighed again, testing each limb and muscle; each seemed to be well on its way to healing soundly.  _Why?_ Not that he was complaining.  _Why would they treat me?_  He was immediately suspicious and guarded. _What else do they have planned?_

Roy rubbed his face again. His hands!  _His hands._  He brought his hands closer to his face to examine them. They had been put in bulky splints for healing, and though he couldn't really feel anything with them, the skin he could see looked on the mend, but healthy.  _Pain medication_ he thought miserably. So his hands had been cared for as well. He frowned, lowering his hands back down to the bed, and tried once again to sit up.  _How long have I been in this room?_   _Where are the Aerugonians? Ania? Macer? Oh God, please let me be done with Macer!_  He almost whimpered, remembering what Macer had done to him.  _Arsenic poisoning, chains, whips, knives, hammers_ …he grimaced at the memory.  _Hell_.

Attempting a third time to sit up, he finally managed to swing his casted leg over the bed and onto the floor, breathing heavily with the effort. The silk pants he was wearing fluttered loosely around his legs.  _Can I stand up? How long…?_  His mind was racing with so many questions about the predicament he was in.

At that moment the heavy door to the room slid open, revealing a tall woman holding a tray and dressed as a nurse. Roy narrowed his eyes at her, unsure of her purpose. He inched deeper into the bed. "Oh! General Mustang, you're awake!" she chattered happily in an Aerugonian accent. "And you're sitting up! Do you need any more pain medicine?" she walked over to him casually and set down her tray on the bedside table.

He didn't answer her and glanced warily at her tray, expecting more torture devices, but instead it held a tall glass of water and a plate of steaming food.  _More arsenic poisoning!_ He panicked and tried to get away.

"General Mustang, sir, please  _calm down_. Relax," the nurse pushed him gently back down onto the bed. He flinched at her touch. "It's not poisoned with  _anything_ ," she emphasized the last word, apparently aware of his recent run-in with forced arsenic ingestion. "You need to eat. You've lost quite a bit of weight," she observed, her blond hair falling into her face. Roy was vaguely reminded of Riza, but immediately scowled at the thought. This woman was nowhere near the same level as his Lieutenant.

He still didn't say anything, and just stared grimly at the nurse in front of him.  _How dare they? How DARE they?_ He had been starved and tortured for two weeks straight and now they wanted to  _care_  for him?  _Is this all just some sort of game to get me to spill the secret of Flame Alchemy?_  He was starting to get angry.

The nurse seemed to have noticed the change in his face and had backed away from the bed back toward the door.

"How  _dare_ you?" Roy growled through healing lips, his voice hoarse. "How  _dare_  you come in here and tell me to  _calm down_?!" he reached around and gripped the headboard of the bed tightly, trying to get up and stand again. "I was  _beaten_  and  _tortured_ ," he started, raising his voice, " _BEATEN_ and  _TORTURED_  for some  _sick man's pleasure!_ " he was yelling now. " _Don't tell me to CALM THE FUCK DOWN!_ " he fell back down on the bed from the effort, panting. "Don't  _tell_  me…" he gasped, "Don't you  _dare_ … _ahhh_." He collapsed against his pillows, eyes fluttering shut, having passed out from the exertion.

The nurse had been backed up against the closed door, eyes wide from his sudden outburst, and once she saw the General slouch back onto the bed, unconscious, she fled from the room, not bothering to close the door quietly. The Crow needed to be told that the General had finally awakened.

* * *

The nurse hurried down the hallway, passing stern guards armed with rifles and handguns, her shadow flickering on the stone walls. Once she was sure she was far enough from the General's room and that no one was following her, her skin crackled with blue energy and shifted away to reveal Ania, that ridiculous nurse outfit gone and replaced with a knee-length skirt and thin heels. She grinned to herself, and strutted down to the Crow's office, not bothering to knock.

"What is it? I'm busy," the Crow was sitting at his desk and didn't bother to look up at who had entered. Pictures of Roy and a large file littered the top of his desk.

"The General's awake, Father," Ania took a seat in front of the Crow's desk and crossed her long legs.

" _Don't_ call me Father," the Crow snapped. "You're sure?" he stopped what he was doing and opened a drawer in the side of desk, taking out Roy's glove and placing it gingerly in front of him.

Ania eyed it warily. "He was up when I went to check on him but he passed out from…well, stupidity," she rolled her eyes and examined her nails, changing the shade from red to purple to blue to red again, blue energy flashing around her fingertips. "He'll be up in a few hours. He's healing  _quickly_ , I would say."

"Good," the Crow said quietly and looked up at Ania. He frowned. "Cover your legs," he ordered, eyes flicking to her left ankle. A red Ouroboros tattoo gleamed haughtily at him. "I didn't create you to be careless."

Ania shrugged and in a matter of moments, her legs were encased in black slacks again, blue hissing around her bottom half. "Aren't you going to tell my  _baby brother_?" she sneered. "That he has a  _homunculus_ for a sister? I'm sure he'd be  _so_ proud _._ "

"Take this," the Crow ignored her question, and tossed her the glove. She watched it flutter back to the desk in front of her through half-lidded eyes, uninterested. "There's an alchemist named  _Hawkeye_  that I'd very much like to meet," he pushed a few yellowed newspaper clippings in front of her. "Find him and bring him here. He might recognize that circle."

"Amestris?" Ania narrowed her sharp eyes as she read the papers. "And if he doesn't come quietly?" she looked bored.

"Bring Macer with you," he answered, not noticing Ania's frown of disapproval. "Also, Hawkeye might have a deceased son. Find him as well."

"Fine," she pushed the papers back to the Crow, and stood up, smoothing down her jacket and tossing her long hair over her shoulders.

"I expect you back within three days," the Crow went back to the pictures he was studying. "Do not  _disappoint_  me."

Ania snatched the glove from the Crow's desk and unceremoniously stuffed it into a jacket pocket. "I won't," she scowled at the older man, and whipped around, leaving the office. The door slammed shut.

The Crow sighed and read the newspapers again. One was dated 1903 and stated that a particularly brilliant alchemist with the name  _Berthold Hawkeye_ had refused to join the State Alchemist program for the sixteenth time, which was supposed to be something of a record. A picture of the man was given as well, and though the image was faded and taken in black and white, the Crow could see that he looked a bit sickly and unkempt. Hawkeye was leaning on the arm of a young man: a more youthful Roy Mustang, and he was looking disdainfully at the camera, clearly irritated.  _Was this his son's alchemy teacher?_ The Crow thought back to the dog tag his son was wearing.  _Hawkeye. Did this man have a child himself who had died in battle? Was that why he had refused the military so many times?_  Once Ania was back, he'd find out. Perhaps this man had even taught Flame Alchemy to his son. The Crow licked his lips in excitement. And even if Hawkeye  _hadn't_  taught Roy the secret to Flame Alchemy, he could still use him against his son; threaten to kill the man if Roy still refused to concede. His son had apparently known this Hawkeye man and had been concerned enough about him, if the picture was accurate.

He folded the newspapers back up again, placed them back in his desk, and brought his folded hands up to his face, leaning on them.  _Everything was falling into place._

* * *

Roy jerked awake again and squinted his eyes.  _Same room as before_. He closed his eyes again, feeling the stitches knitting his skin together.  _Still healing_  he thought grudgingly. If only he had his full strength.  _And a weapon_. He brought his hands up toward his face, wishing he had just  _one_  of his gloves. This place would be up in flames like  _that_. But he could barely move his fingers, let only create a spark if he had the gloves, and he was still out of shape.

A plate of hot food caught his attention on the table beside him and he felt his stomach lurch.  _Maybe just a bite_  he thought, his mouth watering. Sitting up slowly and painfully, he reached out toward the plate and set it on his lap. Before long, the plate was empty, and his insides satisfied.  _Arsenic poisoning_  his brain reminded him. _Not now_  he told himself. And even if the food  _had_  been poisoned, he couldn't do anything about it; he'd have to wait a half hour for any symptoms. Setting the empty plate back on the bedside table, he tried to stand up. The cool air was refreshing against his chest, and he set his legs on the floor, favoring his right leg; pushing upward, he slowly rose from the bed, his muscles stretching and contracting. It was a good ache though, and he felt invigorated.

But it was short lived and he was soon tired again, falling back onto the bed and returning under the sheets.  _How had it come to this? I can barely even stand anymore._

The door slid open again, and Roy tensed. But it wasn't the nurse again. It was the Crow.

" _You_ ," Roy breathed, his voice still raspy. He looked quickly around the room for water, remembering the piercing ice daggers in his body. Finding none, he leaned his head back against the headboard and closed his eyes. "Here to torture me some more?"

"Yes, me. And no. I did not heal you to torture you again," the Crow shut the door and pulled up the chair next to the bed. He sat down, noticing the empty plate. "You've eaten," he said brightly, his slanted eyes wider and a small, triumphant smile on his face. "Though you scared…Bridget something awful when she came to check on you yesterday," his smile widened, deep wrinkles forming around his eyes. "You're healing well," he said flatly, and reached a hand toward Roy.

Roy opened his eyes and flinched away. "I'm not going to hurt you," the Crow said soothingly.

"That's funny. Because that's exactly what you did when we first met," Roy snarled softly. He was still tired from standing up earlier. " _Don't TOUCH me!_ "

"Ah, yes I know. Unfortunate circumstances," the Crow retracted his hand. Roy glared at him, relieved the man hadn't laid a hand on him.  _How can he act so nonchalant about this? Who_ _ **was**_ _he?_

The Crow folded his arms and crossed his legs, still looking regal in his black suit. "You've been healed General," he paused, "and I give you my word that there will be no more torture. I am truly sorry for the events that have transpired."

Roy scoffed, unaffected by the statement.  _Was this man serious? Trying to play it off like it was just a stupid_ _ **mistake**_ _?_ "And I'm supposed to  _believe_  that? I was shot and kidnapped, then tortured by a  _sadist_  for information. I was almost  _raped_. And now, just because you heal me I'm supposed to grovel at your feet in thanks? You Aerugonians are something else. You make me sick," he snorted, voice still weak from screaming and shrieking.

"I'm afraid you're wrong there, General," the Crow stared at him through dark eyes, smile gone. "I am not Aerugonian. From your extensive military background and training, I'm sure you can tell that just from my hair color and facial features." He leaned closer to the bed.

Roy was silent. Face emotionless, he studied the man's face in front of him. But his mind was darting through the possibilities, suddenly perturbed. Looking closer, of course the man wasn't Aerugonian. The lips were too full, nose too slight, and eyes too narrow. And the man's hair: it was black, not a sandy-brown like most native Aerugonians.  _Xingese? Partially? Not Cretan. Maybe even Drachman? Could he possibly be from Amestris?_  He frowned in his thoughts and the Crow noticed his uneasiness, laughing softly.

"Ah, you're confused, General, and you don't like it," he said, amused at Roy's confusion. "Arrogance always did run in the family," he said softly, almost to himself.

" _Excuse_  me?" Roy lifted his head from the headboard and faced the Crow, dark eyes flashing with anger. "You know  _nothing_  about my family," he growled. "You know  _nothing_  about  _me_. So shut your  _fucking mouth!_ " he wheezed, heart in his throat.

The Crow sighed as he watched Roy cough violently and lean against the bed frame again for support.

"Wrong again, General," he remarked. "I know quite a bit about your family," he uncrossed his arms and looked away. "I know that your mother gave her life to protect you in the fire at Eastern Headquarters in 1888. That her last words to you were  _I am so proud of you, my son_."

Roy's jaw went slack in astonishment, but he quickly regained his composure, trying to save face. "Anyone can figure out those things with research and interviewing witnesses," he kept a steady eye on the Crow as he leaned his head back again. "You still don't know  _anything_ about my past. Quit lying to me, you asshole." He looked pained.  _Just leave me alone. Leave me._

"I'm afraid you're wrong again, General.  _I_   _was_   _there_. I  _heard_  Clara Mustang utter those words to her only child. I was in that very room," the Crow studied Roy's anguished face, his own face like stone.

The General's eyes dilated to almost nothing, the irises going dark. His heart felt like it would burst from his chest, and he wanted to scream out. His mother.  _His mother._   _How dare this bastard talk about his mother and LIE about being there?_ His memory flashed in his brain and flipping back to the raging fires that had devoured the hallways and rooms of Eastern Headquarters in 1888, he saw the figure of his mother, a small and beautiful woman, a somber smile ghosted on her lips. His father's body was lying a few feet away, the blue of his uniform stained red with blood, and he remembered the large blackened oak desk at the end of the room, flames licking around the nameplate that read  _Col. Alexander Mustang_. Clara Mustang was kneeling in front of him, her own clothes ripped and stained, and she was cupping her three year old son's face with scarlet hands, tears leaving sooty tracks down her cheeks, her mouth forming words he couldn't hear. And suddenly he was in her arms, and it was unnaturally warm, smoke curling under the locked door;  _I am so proud of you, my son_  she had said into his ear over the deafening heat. She'd picked him up, carried him to the window, and thrust him in the cold arms of a passing military policeman, and his last memory of his mother was her sad smile. He'd been secured in an ambulance in the courtyard when his father's office had exploded, glass shattering and concrete collapsing. His mother hadn't made it out.

The memory played back in Roy's head, his face white, and his teeth clenched. There had been  _no one else_  with him and his mother in that office of Headquarters; he'd relived it too many times in his nightmares.

"I was there," the Crow repeated, pompous attitude returning with his hands folded in his lap, interrupting Roy's burning visions.

" _No one else was there!_ " he suddenly roared, jerking back to the Crow. "It was just  _me_  and  _her_  and my father's _burned body_ in that room and  _no one else_! You  _LIAR_!" he bellowed. "My father  _set fire_  to his office and killed himself and my mother in that room! I _saw_ his dead body!" he hissed. " _He killed her!_ "

"Roy," the Crow said, "I did not kill myself that day," he said rigidly, his face unreadable. "And I did not intentionally kill my wife."

The room was dead silent as Roy processed what the Crow had just said.  _Had he heard correctly?_ Roy almost asked him to repeat himself.  _This man was his FATHER? Had his memory betrayed him?_ His breathing quickened and blood pounded in his skull.  _No. My father is dead. I saw his body. I SAW HIS BODY. He's lying. HE'S LYING TO ME!_

"Roy," the Crow placed a hand on the white sheets, and Roy noticed that an unadorned gold ring glittered on his ring finger. "My name is Alexander Mustang. And you are my son."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, message me (on here or Tumblr, I'll answer either way) if you have questions, comments, concerns, suggestions, etc. I'm always up to chat about my favorite characters and fandoms and any other stuff that crosses your mind. I know this chapter is pretty long, so if you need clarification don't be shy!


	13. His Family

He saw red.

“ _YOU LIAR!_ ” Roy roared. He wanted to catch this arrogant man by his thick neck and strangle him, wanted to slowly squeeze the life out of him. “ _HOW DARE YOU? My father is dead! DEAD!_ ” he heaved, catching his breath. Blinding fury propelled him forward.

“Roy–”

“ _NO! You… You just, just SHUT UP! You FUCKING LIAR!_ ” He tried to reach over the bed, his fingers clawed, ready to strike this impossible man and tear out his eyes.

“Roy, listen to–”

“ ** _YOU_** _FUCKING LISTEN, YOU BASTARD! MY FATHER HAS BEEN DEAD FOR THIRTY FUCKING YEARS!_ ”

“ _Roy_ –”

“ _Don’t call me that!_ ” Roy hissed and tried to swipe at the Crow, swinging wildly.

The older man dodged the ill-aimed swing, and caught Roy’s thin wrist in a firm grip. “Son–”

“ _I am not YOUR SON! SHUT. UP!_ ” he struggled against the Crow, trying to free himself. “ _Let go of me!_ ”

“ _ROY!_ ” the Crow barked. “I have _not_ been dead for thirty years. Quit your screeching and control yourself, _boy_!” his eyes flashed with anger. 

“ _My father would never have me TORTURED!_ ” Roy ignored him and tried to yell out, but his voice was becoming strained. “ _My FATHER would never KIDNAP me and MUTILATE me! My father would NEVER lay a hand on me!_ ” he felt like crying, his heart burning with rage. “ _MY FATHER LOVED ME!_ ” he managed to bellow.

The Crow didn’t release Roy’s wrist. Instead, he leaned forward, leaning out of his chair, until he was almost face to face with Roy. “I wish I loved you. But past…circumstances have made me realize that Love is an obsolete and useless emotion for fools.” he said roughly. “And you’ve been nothing but trouble for me these past few weeks.”

“ _I don’t care_. You’re _not_ my father.” Roy slumped back down, tired from his tirade. His breath came ragged and his healing wounds groaned from the exertion. His arm hung limply in the Crow’s strong hold and his other hand clutched at his side, pulling at the bandages. Anger and betrayal hung heavy in the room.

“I _am_ your father. And as my son, you are to _listen to me, boy_ ,” the Crow relaxed his grip on Roy’s wrist.

“Well, _I refuse_ ,” he snarled. “ _You’re_ nothing but a goddamn _liar_ and _murderer_!”

“I won’t fight with you anymore on this issue. Whether you believe me to be your father or not is your own choice, but it does not change the truth,” the Crow released the quivering arm, watching it fall lifelessly back onto the sheets. “I created you, and for that you should be thankful.”

“ _Go to hell_ ,” Roy closed his eyes, just wishing the monster across from him would leave.

“Does the name _Hawkeye_ ring a bell?” the Crow leaned back in his chair, evaluating his son’s reaction, eyes narrowed and angry.

Absentmindedly, Roy’s hand went to his chest. _Ah. So it does._ The hand was quickly removed but the Crow had already seen what he needed to see. “No,” Roy said tightly. “Someone you’ve lost? _Murderer?_ ”

“I don’t appreciate being called names by my grown son. You are acting like a child,” the Crow folded his hands and stared intensely at the younger man. Roy was obviously lying.

“Yes, _father_ ,” Roy mimicked a child’s voice, but with hatred and contempt. “I’m _so_ sorry for the way I’ve been acting! It must have been the way you _tortured_ me for two weeks and then decided to _lie_ about being my _dead father_!” his words bit through his tongue.

The Crow pulled out a few papers from his suit jacket and placed them in Roy’s lap, raising an eyebrow. The General’s eyes flashed suspiciously at the old papers, but lowered them to read, keeping the Crow in his peripheral vision. _Take no chances._

“Ania’s in Amestris at the moment, currently locating Master Hawkeye. I’d like to have a small chat with him about Flame Alchemy,” the Crow waved his hand. “Judging from the picture, I’d say you knew him quite well. Perhaps you’d like to see him again.”

“Then I hope she brought a shovel,” Roy snorted. “Because he’s been dead for fifteen years,” he scoffed. “She’s looking for a corpse.”

The older man was silent. Though he had thought of the possibility, he had hoped it wasn’t the case. He’d have to make do with the next option then. “So I assume the dog tag around your neck is his deceased son? What a pity,” the Crow sighed and pulled out a pocket watch to check the time, flipping the lid open.

“Yeah…that’s right,” Roy said slowly. “Died in the Ishvalan Extermination Campaign in 1907,” he lied smoothly, carefully choosing his words. “Body was turned to…ash. Mass cremation funeral,” he flicked his eyes toward the door, wondering if this conversation was meant to be a distraction. “What do _you_ care anyway? _Father dear?_ ” Rage still bubbled underneath his skin. _What was this man up to?_

The Crow raised a dark eyebrow. “Turned to ash?” he said in mock disbelief and shook his head. “Sounds right up your alley, doesn’t it General?” he said nonchalantly. “Accidentally killed Hawkeye’s son?”

“He had his orders!” Roy said, not missing a beat. He continued to play up the false story, his heart pounding wildly. _Riza needed to be protected from this man, whoever the hell he was, **no matter what**. Let him believe she’s dead._

“I’m sure it was an _accident_ , General,” the Crow, “But it really is a pity. Looking at the boy’s father, he seemed like he had so much potential that you…burned away.” He put the watch away and stood up, looking down at the wounded man. “I’m afraid I must call Ania and tell her to return,” he shrugged. “Rather unfortunate skip in my plans, but I’ll make do. I’m sure she’s having a miserable time in Amestris with Macer anyway.”

Roy started at the mention of Macer’s name. _Macer!_ If Ania and Macer found Riza, who knew what they’d do to her?

The Crow turned away from the bed, “I see Macer’s given you a rather tough time, son–”

“– _I’m **not** your son!_ ”

“– but I’ll keep a tighter leash on him from now on.” He ignored Roy and opened the door. “Happy healing.” He inclined his head gently and exited.

Roy slid down into the bed so that he was lying down. _I’m such a fool!_ He closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly. _Is he really my father?_ Roy couldn’t remember the exact details of the fire; he’d only been three years old at the time his parents had died. _Does Madame Christmas know? Has she been hiding it from me?_ He had a million questions and his memory was beginning to play tricks on him. _No. My father is **dead**. I **saw** his body! He wasn’t breathing!_

 ** _Was_** _he?_ A tiny voice niggled at the back of his mind. _Or was he just faking it? Perhaps he managed to fake his death? Escape the explosion right before it happened?_

_I was at their funeral! Their caskets…_

_Ah, but **were** there caskets? The office collapsed. Surely no bodies were even found. _  

Roy battled with his conscience, second-guessing himself at every detail. _How? **How?**_

And then there was the fact that the Crow didn’t need a circle to perform transmutations. So he was an alchemical genius that had seen the Truth. _Not genius enough_ Roy thought sarcastically. _But **why** had he seen the Truth?_

His mind betrayed him again as it turned toward Riza Hawkeye. _The old man fell for it_ he thought triumphantly, reveling in the tiny victory. He glanced down at the newspapers again, bringing them closer to his face. A younger version of him was there, in the picture with Master Hawkeye, standing in front of the dilapidated manor and looking cynically into the camera lens. Riza wasn’t in the picture, most likely at school or in the makeshift range in the old backyard. He smiled dimly at the memory. Ever since he’d been apprenticed to Master Hawkeye, he could never beat her in marksmanship; he was a good shot, but Riza had always been better, spending all of her spare time practicing.

He flipped the folded cutting over, and a small piece of paper dropped from the crease. It was another newspaper clipping, but this one was dated a little younger than the article about Master Hawkeye, and it wasn’t from an Amestrian newspaper. _August 1910: The Aerugonian Register_ the heading read. _The small town of Zaffre on the outskirts of the Eastern Quadrant of Aerugo has been completely annihilated, leaving no survivors. After hearing no response from Zaffre for two weeks after its councilmen had been summoned for a court martial, six policemen were ordered to make the short journey from Massicot, capital of the Eastern Quadrant, to Zaffre, in order to escort the councilmen to their hearing. Upon arriving at the town, the policemen found that Zaffre was completely lifeless, dead bodies littering the roads, in homes, offices, train stations, etc. It appeared all of the towns inhabitants had dropped dead where they stood, regardless of illness or not. More police were then called in to investigate. After inspecting multiple bodies, the men were baffled to find that none of the corpses were covered in blood, smelled of poison, or even remotely injured. Suspecting foul play, numerous bodies were brought back to the capital for further investigation and forensics. Zaffre has been closed off for future visitations._

Roy dropped the clipping in bewilderment. Scanning the article again, his eyes fell on the sentence: _It appeared all of the town’s inhabitants had dropped dead where they stood, regardless of illness or not._

 _No injury. Dropped dead where they stood._ It couldn’t be. _Could it?_ He threw the newspaper back down on the bed, rubbing his face. He recognized the method of death, dreading what he already knew. _A Philosopher’s Stone_ his mind muttered. Had the Crow really made another… He didn’t even want to say the forbidden word. 

 _This is a nightmare_.  

* * *

 

 _Crack crack BANG! Crack crack BANG!_ Riza tightened her grip on the sniper rifle and squinted through her scope at the human-shaped target three hundred meters away. Though the target was closer than the distance she was used to sniping with, she wasn’t there to practice. The outdoor rifle range was where she went to blow off steam or think, and this time, it was the latter.

Edward and Breda had left to go back to Resembool earlier that morning, with the promise that everything would turn out and the General would be found. _No worries_ Edward had said, shaking her hand and boarding the train. _I’ll be back with Al sometime tomorrow. You just tell us what needs to be done, Hawkeye._ She had nodded and waved goodbye, silently wishing he was right, and returned back to Headquarters.

 _What if it doesn’t turn out? What if we’re too late?_ She squeezed the trigger again and her shot pierced the outside of the center circle on the head of the target. _Bugger_. Not her best, but then again, she hadn’t completely been paying attention. Setting down the rifle and leaning up on her elbows, she pulled up her uniform sleeve and checked her wristwatch. 1129. Fuery had the day off today, and he should be done with sending the coded messages she had written the night before; each had a different cipher, depending on the level of security each recipient had, and each detailed what she and her friends had found.

Leaning back down again, she prepared to take another shot, but something caught her eye in her left field of vision. _Major General Ranford_. She scowled as he recognized her, and stood up to salute him, agitated. She’d heard he was up for a promotion to _Lieutenant General_ and the thought made her sick.

“At ease, Lieutenant Colonel,” Ranford waved her off. The dismissal made her painfully think of Roy. _I feel so useless_.

“As you know, I’ve been sent paperwork for promotion, Hawkeye,” he said, as if he deserved it, and motioned her to walk with him. Riza said nothing, and instinctively moved behind him a step and a half to the left. She caught what she was doing and quickly moved up directly beside Ranford. Her neck flared. She was always behind _Roy_ a step and a half to the left and _no one else_.

“I hope you know what this means,” he clasped his hands behind his back and stared ahead at the line of targets at the far end of the range. “I’ll be leaving Eastern for Central in a week for the tests, and _you’re_ going to be escorting me. I hope I haven’t interrupted anything…significant,” he flicked some invisible lint off his uniform.

Riza paled slightly, but inclined her head, indicating that she was aware. “Of course, sir. I understand. A week then,” she said flatly.

To be honest, she had forgotten about that. _Was Ranford so insecure that he needed to be babysat?_ She’d be going back to Central. Away from her friends and where she was comfortable. Of course, Grandfather would be there, as well and Armstrong and Maria and Denny, but she’d have to halt her makeshift investigation for the General, and _that_ was something that truly bothered her. _They were running out of time_. Whoever kidnapped the General would need to be taken care of _immediately_ , and every day they lost, the enemy gained the upper hand.

“Good man,” Ranford nodded his head. “I’ll have the paperwork ready for you to fill out when you’re done here. One more hour, Hawkeye, until you’re needed in the office again. No excuses,” he turned to face her.

“Sir!” she saluted and clicked her heels. _Time to be the perfect soldier._

Ranford casually saluted back and left her. Riza dropped her salute once he was out of sight again and returned to her lane. _That idiot_.

She was frustrated. Gripping the rifle so tight her knuckles ached and turned white, she emptied her clip into the target, not caring if she hit it or not. Ideally, they’d catch the kidnappers and would-be assassins before the end of the week, and Roy would be back, sitting in his chair as always before Ranford had the opportunity to run away to Central. Of course, that was entirely impossible. Their progress had been slow and they still had no idea as to _who_ the kidnappers and would-be assassins were.

“Impressive as always, Hawkeye,” someone came up behind her.

“I know, sir. You never could best me with the rifle,” she answered absentmindedly, her thoughts still on the different possibilities of who the perpetrators could be.

“Hawkeye,” the voice said slowly, and someone gently touched her shoulder. “It’s just me.”

She whipped around, ready to retort at Roy, but hesitated when she saw that it _wasn’t_ the General addressing her. It was Havoc.

 _What? Oh. I, er…_ she sighed inwardly. _How could she forget?_ She was just thinking about the General’s _kidnappers_ for heaven’s sake! _Am I really that tired?_

Riza stared at Havoc, miserably wishing that Roy stood in Havoc’s place instead. “I’m sorry, Havoc,” she said abjectly, “It seems I’m a bit tired. I wasn’t thinking straight.” She inserted another clip into the rifle.

“Hawkeye,” Havoc crouched down beside her, the sunlight glinting off his wedding band. “I understand. Don’t worry,” he lowered his voice. “Fuery’s sent word through Falman. The Lion’s been notified,” he told her, using their code name for Fuhrer Grumman. “As well as Madame Christmas and Dr. Marcoh.”

She just barely nodded, taking aim at the target again. “Has Falman found anything concerning the casings and the blood?” she fired twice.

“Still working on it ma’am,” Havoc answered, “though he said he was close and to give him a few more hours.”

“Done,” she fired again, “as long as Ranford doesn’t catch him.”

“Weapons are fully stocked and loaded too; the Cabinet is full,” Havoc informed her, referring to their arsenal in Fuery’s empty apartment that he didn’t use.

“I’m going to be leaving for Central in a week, Havoc. General Ranford’s up for promotion and needs me to come along. Take care of things while I’m gone,” Riza said quietly, and squeezed the trigger again.

“ _Shit_ ,” he breathed and stood up. “Of course, Hawkeye. But we still have a week.”

“You’re right,” she emptied the clip again. “A week to plan,” she stood and gathered up the empty ammunition boxes. “I’ve got to get back to Ranford. Thank you, Havoc. Tell the others as well.”

Havoc saluted her as she walked past and stared at her back as she walked off the range. _She looks ill_ he thought. _Ill and exhausted._ She and the General were two halves of the same whole; completely in sync with each other and feeding off of the other’s energy in battle. But in Roy’s absence she looked… _almost lost_ his mind suggested. _Lost without her other half_. _Other half?_ _Of course. You couldn’t ask for one without expecting the other. Almost like…soul-mates?_

Havoc shook his head and walked to the mess hall, still mulling the thought over. _Mustang and Hawkeye, soul-mates?_ He chuckled to himself. _Sure? Why the hell not?_

* * *

Ania stared at the headstone in irritated astonishment, the hot sunlight beating on her back. _Berthold Hawkeye_. She looked at the slip of paper in her gloved hand again; she hadn’t been mistaken, and the written name indeed matched the one on the dirty tombstone. She frowned and stalked away, out of the graveyard and down the dirt road back to an old and run-down manor.

Had the Crow sent her on a fool’s errand to get her out of the way? He’d sent her to look for a man dead for almost fifteen years. _Old man_ she thought bitterly, as she kicked open the crumbling front door to the abandoned house. She still had enough time before Macer came back from the nearby town, and decided to check around the filthy house, just in case this Hawkeye fellow had left anything hiding in the place.

Bookshelves lined almost every wall of the front room, and still more covered the walls of most of the rooms as well. Most were alchemy-related. So the Crow had been right. Hawkeye _had_ been an alchemist when he was alive, and had apparently died without leaving his belongings to a relative. Of course, there had been his son, she remembered, recalling the dog tag around her brother’s neck. _Dead_ she thought. No one left to take of this grungy place, from the looks of it.

She stepped into a room, the furthest from the front door, coughing from the dust that was disturbed. An enormous burn mark scarred the dirty floor, black ashes scattering as she drew closer to examine it. She crouched down and swiped a finger across the mark. _Parchment burned by fire_. A fluttering caught her attention, and turning to the movement, she noticed it was a small, burned piece of paper, though still intact, with markings on it. Catching it with a deft hand, she moved closer to the dull window to get a better look. Part of a transmutation circle was hand-drawn on the paper, the rest of it burned away at the edges. Taking the General’s glove from her pocket, she compared the two circles, and immediately recognized that the two were almost identical. _So the General had been here_. _Or Hawkeye was studying it as well._

Pocketing both the parchment and glove, she moved away from the window toward the small desk that was pushed against one wall. Beginner’s alchemy notes, a few dusty stacks of books leaning on each other and a single picture frame covered the desk. The notes were of no use to her, and the books looked to be children’s novels of some sort. She picked up the picture frame and blew away the thick layer of dust; the faded picture was dated 1896, and two figures had been captured in the shot. A very young Roy Mustang had his arm flung around another child in front of the manor, and they were too busy laughing to face the camera properly. Wiping away more of the dust, Ania gasped out loud, and then suddenly smirked in triumph. A small note was written in a child’s hand at the bottom of the second figure: _Riza Hawkeye and me!_

A _girl_! A _daughter_! She grinned at her discovery and examined the girl in the photograph. Cropped blond hair, bangs flopping to the side, and dressed in boy’s trousers. A small slingshot dangled from one hand. Memorizing the face, she slid the picture from its frame and tucked it into her pocket as well. Hawkeye had had a _daughter_ , not a _son_! Ania walked around the room once more, pacing in her elation, all agitation from finding Berthold Hawkeye dead, gone. Father was _sure_ to be proud of her now, after she told him of this news. _What if this Riza Hawkeye is dead as well, though? She didn’t have a tombstone at the cemetery_. She’d have to do a little more investigating to be completely sure. _I still have two days. More than enough time to find out_.

Taking one last look around the room and finding nothing else of importance, she left, gently laughing to herself. _So, little brother. A girl, huh?_

Macer was waiting outside the cemetery for her, flipping a knife between his fingers. “Berthold Hawkeye? He’s dead,” he pointed the blade into the cemetery.

“Yes, thank you, Macer. I found that out a while ago. Lazy idiot,” Ania pulled the photograph from her jacket and held it in front of her companion’s face. “Hawkeye had a _daughter_ , not a son. We need to find her and see if she’s still alive.”

Macer squinted at the faded picture. “Ya sure it’s a girl, boss? Looks a lot like a boy to me,” he looked up at her, one eyebrow cocked.

“Can you _read_ , you incompetent ass? ‘Riza Hawkeye and me.’ _Riza,_ ” she rolled her eyes and started walking away toward the small town.

“Fine, fine, so it’s a girl. She’s a pretty one. For a girl,” he jogged to catch up with her.

Ania didn’t answer him and continued walking quickly. _Stupid fool. I don’t know what Father sees in him_. Blue light enveloped her and her skin peeled away to reveal a woman with short brown hair dressed in an Amestrian military uniform.

“Ack! Try not to do that _in front_ of me, boss. It scares the shit outta me,” Macer shuddered and tossed the knife into the air.

“Don’t get in my way, Macer. We’re going into town to find out where Riza Hawkeye might be living. I need you to at least _look_ like you know what you’re doing,” Ania said haughtily, keeping an eye on the line of shops that lined the road. “And put that knife away.”

Macer caught the knife by the blade with his fingertips and sheathed it on his belt. “And _you_ know what you’re doing?” he challenged, glaring at a few townspeople that walked by them.

“Of course,” she snapped back, obviously irritated at her father’s choice of assistant. “Keep quiet,” she ordered and entered a small shop, a bookstore.

“Hello ma’am!” an old man waved at her from behind the counter. “Can I help you with some purchases? We’ve just got a shipment in from West City a couple of days ago! Mighty fine books it brought!” he chirped happily and adjusted his glasses.

“Actually, I’m looking for someone,” Ania smiled brightly at the old shopkeeper and clasped her hands in front of her. “Riza Hawkeye? I just came from her house and she wasn’t there. In fact, it looks like no one’s lived there for a while now. The house up by the cemetery?” she plastered a look of fake worry on her smooth face.

“Ah, yes, the Hawkeyes,” the old man opened up a large leather bookkeeping notebook. “Poor old Berthold died back in 1905 and left Miss Riza everything. But soon after, she packed up a few of her things and enlisted into the military, saying there was something she had to do.” He sighed and pulled a worn photograph from the pages of the notebook. “That’s her there,” he pointed out a stern young woman in the picture. “And Master Berthold’s only apprentice,” he moved his finger to the man standing next to her. “Young Roy Mustang,” he pulled at his mustache, “would barge into my shop on a daily basis and demand the newest alchemy books that I had,” he chuckled. “What a bright young lad.”

Ania leaned closer to the counter. The woman in the shopkeeper’s picture was most definitely an older, more mature Riza Hawkeye than in the picture she had, and she studied the image closely, memorizing the older face. “Where is she now? I’m an old friend of hers, and unfortunately, we’ve fallen out of contact,” she pressed.

The old man shook his head. “Last I heard, she was sent to Ishval during the war, poor girl. I haven’t heard word of her since. I am sorry,” he placed the photograph back in the notebook and closed it. “Perhaps you can try the ammunitions shop four doors down. Miss Riza was a more frequent customer there,” he suggested, smiling sadly.

“Thank you,” Ania said, frowning sideways at Macer. _An ammunitions shop?_ He raised a thin eyebrow and shrugged.

“You are welcome. I hope you find her! And bring back word if you do,” the old man said, “She was such a polite girl.”

Ania and Macer left the bookstore, and Macer chuckled. “So she was sent to the war. Seems pretty dead to me.” His boots clicked on the dirt road as they headed to the shop the old man had suggested.

“Shut up, Macer. Until we know for sure, we keep looking,” she adjusted the collar of the scratchy uniform and pushed open the door. “I can’t go back to Father empty-handed.”

Macer just shrugged again. “Whatever, Miss boot-licker.”

“Military!” a young woman seated at the front of the store shouted toward the back. “Sorry. We don’t get many soldiers around here,” she stood up and placed the rifle she was cleaning on the wooden counter. “I’m Tanya. Can I assist you with anything?” Tanya moved behind the counter.

“I’m actually looking for someone, and the old man at the bookstore directed me here. Riza Hawkeye?” Ania asked. _Hopefully we’ll get somewhere with these people_.

“Riza Hawkeye,” Tanya muttered to herself. “Riza Hawkeye. Oh! Yes, I remember her. We were in the same class during primary school. We weren’t friends, but I definitely remember her. Such a sullen little girl,” Tanya shook her head. “I haven’t seen her since she came back from the Ishval War.”

Ania’s eyes widened. _So she survived the war_. “Do you have any idea where she might be? I’m an old friend of hers from the military and I’ve unfortunately lost contact with her.”

Tanya tapped her fingers on the shiny rifle, and thought intently. “I’m afraid not. She didn’t say where she was going before she left here again. Haven’t you checked East City? Most soldiers from around here are stationed there.” Tanya leaned against the counter, eying the epaulettes on Ania’s shoulders. “You’re a Captain, right?”

“Er…” Ania paused and pursed her lips. _Was she?_ “Er…um, well…”

“Yes, she is,” Macer cut in. “She’s just been looking for her friend for a very long time, and we haven’t had much help,” he smiled charmingly at Tanya. “My girlfriend’s just a bit distressed.”

“I’m sorry,” the woman said, and picked up a cleaning cloth. “I’m sure East City has records of Riza somewhere. Wouldn’t hurt to check. Considering you’re military and all,” she started to clean the rifle again.

“It’s no big deal,” Ania said apologetically. “Thank you for your time.”

Tanya nodded and returned to her seat by the door. “Hope you find her.”

Ania and Macer left the shop. “Damn it, Macer,” she breathed. “I told you _not to talk_!”

“Yeah? Can’t even tell your rank on your uniform can you?” he crowed, almost skipping.

She ignored him. She didn’t have time to deal with Macer and his antics right now. _She was alive_. “We need to find Riza Hawkeye. Since she’s apparently not dead.” She said firmly. “We’ll check in a few more of these…shops,” she wrinkled her nose in disgust, “and then head to East City. Eastern Headquarters for the Amestrian military is definitely worth a look,” she stopped walking and turned to Macer. “Get us tickets for the next train,” she ordered.

“Yeah, yeah, fine boss,” Macer stopped his weird dancing and headed toward the train station. “Grumpy woman,” he mumbled.

Ania continued down the street and grinned wickedly. _Where are you Riza Hawkeye? Won’t you come out to play?_

* * *

The next day, Riza made her way to Fuery’s apartment, eyes locked on nothing in front of her. It was beginning to drizzle and her breath came out in foggy mists, but she was undeterred. The long walk was relaxing to her, and she pulled her black overcoat closer, arms hugging her chest.

Though stressful and tiring, the day before had been somewhat fruitful: Falman had managed to find a few manuscripts detailing the usage of .223 rifle casings throughout Amestris, and though she had been right in that the military had discontinued using them four years ago, an article had stated that unused casings and rifles that charged the .223s had been shipped to Creta three years ago, under the command of her grandfather himself.

_“Creta!” Falman exclaimed, after he had brought the papers to her during mess. “It’s pretty much known that the ruling family, the Cretuans, are deeply involved with the White Key. You know, that underground ring that deals in the black market and prostitution in Amestris. A few of Madame Christmas’s girls were rescued from them, I think.” Riza blanched at Falman’s statement, but coded the information onto a small pad of paper._

_“So we might be dealing with a centuries old crime family, who happens to govern Creta,” she sighed._

_“Something as valuable and rare and Flame Alchemy might have caught their attention,” Falman said slowly. “The White Key has been known to kidnap minor State Alchemists before. Remember Lieutenant Colonel Brawley?” He folded up the manuscripts and looked around the hall, making sure no one was looking._

_“Yes. Fuhrer King Bradley had told the rest of the State Alchemists that she had decided to quit the program and return back to her family in the North,” Riza said sternly. “No one has heard from her since."  
_

_“Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case,” Falman started to eat from his tray. “It was hushed up, but her body was found about five years ago in the southernmost city in the West Area. In the sewers,” he sighed. “Parts of transmutation circles were cut into her skin and a secret autopsy confirmed she’d been violently sexually assaulted. The brand of a key had been tattooed under her right arm, which is a pretty typical method and area for marking their victims.” He shook his head. “I found the report in the Basement archives.”_

_Riza closed her eyes. “That poor girl,” she muttered. “Why would Bradley want to cover that up?”_

_Falman shrugged, “I’m not sure. Probably had something to do with Father and the other Homunculi.” He continued to eat. “If the White Key attempted to murder the General, we could have a major problem on our hands. They’re extremely hard to track down, and the people they kidnap border on impossible to find.”_

_“We’re running out of time,” she mumbled, her heart sinking. “We’ve got two months before the beginning of the deadline,” she said, referring to what Ed had shown them about the coded message. “I might be able to convince the Fuhrer to continue the investigation into the White Key, while I’m in Central,” she suggested. “But that won’t be for another week.”_

_“We need more information first,” Falman paused as another officer walked behind him. “The rifles the kidnappers used may have come from Creta, but that doesn’t mean the kidnappers are Cretan,” he pointed out. “They may be under a different cult than the White Key.”_

_“True. But it’s all we have to go off of right now. We know that the Cretuan Family is involved in the black market; they might have sold those old .223s to the White Key.” Riza stood up to leave._

_“We’re going to have to proceed with this very delicately, ma’am,” Falman said quietly, “the White Key’s not known for being merciful.”_

_“Understood, Major,” she turned back to him, eyes on fire. “But the General’s safety and release are our first priority. We don’t stop until he’s back.”_

She had returned to her desk in Ranford’s office and finished the work day, the possibility of the General being sold into prostitution on the black market continuously blazing through her mind. She wasn’t _too_ concerned about the secret to Flame Alchemy being revealed, since she had placed her full trust in the General to never utter its theorems and postulates again, and all of his notes were hidden in the locked safe in her closet. What she _was_ worried about was the torture. She knew the General would never willingly tell anyone about her or what was on her back, and she was afraid of what the kidnappers might do to force him to speak. Riza let go of the breath she was unconsciously holding. _He’s a strong man. He’s cauterized his own wounds for god’s sake!_ she had tried to reassure herself.

She unlocked the front door to Fuery’s apartment, scanning around to make sure no one was with her. Radio equipment scattered the wooden floor, black wires snaking through doorways. Stepping over the sensitive gear, she opened the door to a closet in the corner and checked the inventory. Havoc had done well yesterday, and she smiled in relief. _They were ready. If need be._

Riza checked the clock on the wall, guessing she had about two hours before Breda, Ed and Al returned from Resembool, and locked up the apartment again, quickly making her way home.

_“Are you sure Al wouldn’t mind coming back to East City? I know it’s not really his favorite place…” Riza looked worried. “Isn’t he planning to go back to Xing in a few weeks?”_

_“Nah, I talked to him about it last night. He was really worked up about Mustang’s disappearance and said he’d do anything he could. Besides, he said he didn’t have to go back to Xing so quickly anyway,” Ed shrugged and took her cold hand. “We’ll be back tomorrow Hawkeye. Promise.”_

Edward. He was such a good kid. And Al. Both were incredibly talented young men and Riza felt so proud of them. She pushed back her bangs and walked up the steps to her apartment building. _They have such huge hearts._

She suddenly stopped in front of her door, her throat clenched. The frame was splintered in places and the door had been forced open, letting a tiny crack of light into the foyer of her apartment. She could hear Black Hayate snarling and spitting at something, no, _someone_ in her apartment. Unhooking her gun, she flicked off the safety and flattened herself against the doorway silently. _More kidnappers_ her mind growled. _Or murderers?_ Her brain went to the White Key. _Fine. Perfect. They came directly to me_.

Riza took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the weapon in her hands, and whipped around, bursting into the apartment and aiming tightly.

Black Hayate bounded toward her and went to her side, growling ferociously. Riza narrowed her eyes in the dark room, looking for the intruder.

“Not the welcome I had anticipated,” a husky voice sighed from a dark corner. “But then again, we did have to break in.”

A lamp flickered on to reveal a dangerously beautiful woman, sitting down with her legs crossed, in Riza’s reading chair by the window. Riza locked her aim at the woman’s head.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Riza Hawkeye.” The woman set down a picture frame in her lap and folded her hands, unaffected by the gun pointed at her face. “Or should I address you as Riza _Mustang_ , my future _sister-in-law?"_


	14. Protection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been brought to me attention by @healingqilin that I have not updated this since 2014! Goodness gracious. I admit, I hadn't anticipated taking such a long hiatus from this story, but I have updated over at ff.net, and I guess I completely forgot to post the new chapters here! So far, I've written three new chapters but I'll be posting them maybe every other week so people have time to catch up. Of course, you can always head over to ff.net if you can't wait! 
> 
> Thanks for being so patient, guys! <3

Edward, Alphonse, and Breda sat silent in the train car. Pleasantries had been exchanged upon arriving at Resembool as well as departing the morning after, but each could find nothing to say to the others during the ride. Perhaps it was their way of coping.

Ed stared out the window into the dark night, hair tied in its old braid, chin resting on his hand.

_Snap. Crack. CrackBOOM. Snap. Crack. CrackcrackBOOM._

His head was filled with the sounds and visions of Mustang’s alchemy, streaks of orange and blue twirling around each other and exploding in front of his eyes. He thought back to the first time he’d seen the unique transmutation.

_It was three weeks since he’d passed the State Alchemist exam, and though the weight of getting his and Al’s bodies back had settled heavily on his shoulders, he was still high off of the pride in being the youngest qualified State Alchemist. He’d been placed under Mustang’s jurisdiction, but that was okay, since he rarely saw the man during the weeks anyway; the bastard always sent them away to remote towns on what he liked to call “clean up duty.”_

_One day, after returning from such a mission, they found the Colonel’s office nearly empty, except for Hawkeye, Fuery, and Breda. Noticing that it was still during prime work hours, Ed demanded to see Mustang, loudly complaining that his superior officer was slacking off on the job, making him do busywork, and only saw him and Al as more puppets to play with. No one had said a word to interrupt him, and when he was done, Hawkeye stood up. With a stern face and quick step, she motioned them to follow her. Ed rolled his eyes. “_ Mustang’s babysitter _,” he thought. She led them through the long main hallway and outside to the enormous arena and pointed. “I don’t need practice, Hawkeye. I’m–” But she shook her head and continued pointing. He turned to look._

_Mustang was there in the arena, uniform jacket tossed to the side and sweating as he jumped and rolled from place to place in between targets. Fire seemed to be burning in small blazes all around the arena, sending up gray smoke, and little explosions would go off every now and then all over the place. “Is he **crazy**? Is he **trying** to get burned?” Ed scoffed. Was his commanding officer an adrenaline-junkie? “Yo, Mustang! Careful not to set yourself on fire. I’d be sooooo heartbroken!” He jumped the small concrete barrier and casually strolled to his panting superior, not caring that Hawkeye and Al were calling after him. _

_Hearing the sound, Mustang whipped around and swept a hand up, a fierce look on his face and his eyes narrowed. They softened as he recognized the boy._

_Ed stopped a few meters away, surprised. “Whoa, whoa, whoa it’s just me, Mustang,” he said, his own hands up. As the words left his mouth, he noticed Mustang’s raised hand was gloved and he looked ready to…snap his fingers? He laughed. “You were gonna **snap** at me, Mustang?” He snapped his own fingers, jumping around and sticking out his tongue. “God, if I’d known **that** , I wouldn’t have been–”_

_It all happened in the miniscule space of a second. Ed saw the Colonel’s gloved hand swing down in front of him, heard the distinct sound of something snapping, and the ground a few meters behind him exploded into flames; the inferno was out a few moments later._

_Ed yelped. “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!” He looked accusingly at Mustang, who had eased his stance and smiled smugly._

_“A lesson.” He grinned and started to walk towards the middle of the arena where two dummies, a large one and a small one, stood. “Never engage your opponent unless you know the full extent of his abilities,” he droned._

_“ **What** did you just attack me with? Hidden bombs? Grenades? What are you even doing out here anyway?” Ed yelled. “This arena is for alchemists **only** , Mustang. This is where the big boys play,” he said pompously, trying to downplay the fact that he’d been scared out of his pants._

_“I didn’t attack you with any machines, Fullmetal. I’m surprised it took you this long to notice. I also happen to be an alchemist.” Mustang’s back was still to Ed, but he stopped walking and raised a gloved hand so Ed could get a closer look. A fairly simple-looking transmutation circle was carefully stitched onto the back in red embroidery._

_“What?! **You?** Lemme see that!” He tried to snatch at Mustang’s hand, but the Colonel brought it out of his reach. _

_“And what do you say, Fullmetal?” Mustang waved his hand out of Ed’s reach again._

_“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ed jumped._

_“Ah ah ah.” Mustang grinned. “What is the magic word, Fullmetal?”_

_“You BASTARD LET. ME. SEE!” Ed clapped his hands and a spike of earth shot up near Mustang’s foot._

_Mustang dodged out of the way, anticipating the cheap move, and snapped again, exploding the ground near Ed’s hands this time._

_“What–” Another column of flame rose up to his left, dangerously close to lighting his red cloak._

_“The magic word, Fullmetal. Or the next one ignites your precious hair.”_

_The dust cleared and Ed saw Mustang’s figure in front of him, ready to snap again._

_“Fine, bastard. We’ll do it your way,” Ed muttered. “ **Please**.”_

_“Please **what**?” Mustang smirked._

_“I already said it!”_

_“Please **what**?”_

_“You…! Fine. Please, **sir** ,” Ed grumbled. _

_“Thank you.”_

_“Bastard.”_

_Mustang ignored the expletives and stripped off his glove, handing it to Ed. “You are never allowed to take these from my desk, office, wherever I keep them. NEVER. Or I **will** report you to the higher-ups for stealing from your superior,” Mustang said, all playfulness gone. “You wouldn’t be able to activate the circle anyway.”_

_Ed studied it. It was just a circle and some triangles. Really? That was it? He tossed the glove back to Mustang, unimpressed. “Eh, sure fine, whatever. What’s your field? Solid matter combustion?” He expected to hear something rather elementary, since it looked like Mustang’s particular alchemy wasn’t exactly graceful or useful, except in combat._

_“Gases,” Mustang answered shortly and replaced his glove._

_Ed struggled to keep his jaw from crashing into the dirt in astonishment. Mustang worked with **gases**? **Mustang**? His **specialty** was gases? Well, that would explain the massive explosions of fire, Ed thought, recalling his chemistry. Transmute a path of…something flammable through the air to the target and…was that how it worked? “Gases?” he repeated weakly. _

_“Yes, Fullmetal. Don’t underestimate me.” Mustang approached the two dummies._

_Ed stood rooted to the ground, and looking around the arena, shook himself from disbelief. He’d have to ask about it later, a crowd was beginning to form around the edges of the circular court. “What are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be on duty?”_

_“Practicing defense.” Mustang pointed to the two dummies he stood in front of, and for the second time that day, Ed’s mouth dropped open. “Cut that out, Fullmetal, it’s very unbecoming.”_

_The dummies were makeshift representations of himself and Al. “That’s me,” he said dumbly._

_“Fantastic deduction, Fullmetal.” Mustang tapped the larger dummy. “Ever since you two were placed under me, I’ve had to practice conducting the ignition paths around your bodies to different targets. Your heights, masses, and body compositions are too different from the rest of my team’s, and I’m not used to protecting…children. And since one of you is so large and the other is so…” he trailed off, eying Ed’s height. “Short.”_

_“DON’T CALL ME SHORT! I’M NOT SHORT!” Ed bellowed, face turning red._

Ed smiled at the memory. He _had_ been something close to short all those years ago.

He remembered that day vividly: he had asked Mustang about his specialty days later, and he had balked at the answer, skeptical that Colonel Mustang, of all people, was capable of bending the most difficult state of matter to his will with such ease. An alchemy lesson from his times with Izumi Curtis flashed across his brain: “ _Elemental alchemy is some of the hardest to master. When it comes to transmuting the different states of matter, the pure solids are the easiest, then the liquids and most fluids, and finally, the gases. Because the atoms in solid matter mostly stay in a conserved space, relatively speaking, they are the most straightforward to work with. Liquids are a little harder because the particles are more mobile than in solids, forcing alchemists to concentrate on just trying to find a straight pathway for their transmutation. Gases are the most difficult to master since the atoms have such erratic pathways and aren’t easily contained. Finding a straight and reliable pathway to your target is virtually impossible. Precision and flexibility are a must when working with gases, and only attempt to transmute them if you have no other choice. Miscalculation can be deadly and can result in rebounds, even if your calculations are just the slightest bit incorrect. We will not be working with any gases from now on, and don’t let me catch you trying!”_

Mustang had stated that he _only_ worked with gases, transmuting them into their component elements and igniting the pure oxygen or hydrogen by creating a spark with his “ignition gloves” he’d called them.

_“Pyrotex ignition cloth, Fullmetal. I stitch the circle onto the gloves myself.”_   

For a twelve year old, Ed had hidden his admiration pretty well, forcing it behind a look of aloofness and skepticism. Like he’d let Mustang catch him _admiring_ him. Hah! Yeah right. The truth was he _still_ admired Mustang for his obvious perseverance that allowed him to master the gases.

Ed remembered asking Mustang time and time again to teach him how to transmute gases and the basics to Flame Alchemy (“ _I’m a **prodigy** , Mustang. I’m sure I can handle it_”) but Mustang had always refused, saying it was too dangerous and that he didn’t have the time ( _“I was considered a prodigy too, you know, Fullmetal, but we can’t all get our way.”_ ) To that, Ed had retorted back, saying that if Mustang was being such an ass about it, then he’d go and look for the damn research himself. Mustang had laughed and told him to go on and look, but he’d never find the research anywhere. After finding Ed going through his desk one day, Mustang had scolded him like a child that had lied, and said to him darkly, “The secret to Flame Alchemy lies with me and one other person, and will not be shared with anyone for as long as we both shall live. Do not ask me again.” A deadly spark had flashed across Mustang’s usually calm eyes, and Ed had never dared to bring up the subject afterward.

He absentmindedly snapped his own fingers at his reflection on the window, still reflecting about the day he found out about Flame Alchemy. Perhaps the most emotionally terrifying part of that day was when he had seen the two dummies that had been made to look like him and Al’s suit of armor. _I’ve had to practice conducting the ignition paths around your bodies…I’m not used to protecting children_ he remembered Mustang saying. _Protecting children_. Though Ed had shrugged it off that day, he sighed now, realizing what Mustang had really said to him then: _You and Al are under my protection and I will not hesitate to burn anyone if they threaten you._ Again, the word _FATHER_ pounded itself on the inside of his skull.

Ed leaned back, slamming his back against the wooden train seat.

“Are you okay, brother?” Al looked toward him and cocked his head, gold bangs falling out of his face.

“Fine, Al. Just thinking.” Ed pulled at the tail of his braid, wishing the train ride was over. Hawkeye was expecting them, and the delay at one of the train stops had made them late by at least a half hour. “You remember when we first saw Colonel Bastard’s Flame Alchemy, Al?”

Al smiled lightly. “You were jealous.” He turned his head to face his older brother. “And you kept trying to do it yourself. You failed miserably.” Al chuckled behind a hand.

“I asked if you remembered the first time we saw it, Al. Not how I was…obsessed with the transmutation.” Ed frowned and harrumphed.

“Okay, okay!” Al laughed. “Of course I do. It was pretty amazing. Teacher always told us that gases were dangerous to transmute, but the Colonel, ah _General_ , does it so effortlessly,” he said thoughtfully.

Ed snickered. “Of course Teacher told us. We were just kids.”

Breda smiled at the brothers in front of him and checked his watch. “We should be there soon. I’ll call Hawkeye.” He stood up and straightened his long brown jacket. “I’ll be back.”

Ed and Al nodded at the officer and turned back to each other. “I hope he’s all right,” Al said quietly and clasped his hands tightly in his lap. “He was kidnapped right after we left?”

Ed nodded. “That’s what Hawkeye said. Mustang was shot in the chest twice, had surgery at the Resembool hospital, and kidnapped after they had left. Hawkeye thinks it’s because of Flame Alchemy.” He balled his hands into tight fists.

“She must feel awful,” Al murmured.

Ed was silent, thinking about two days before when he had left Hawkeye’s apartment.

“So the kidnappers want the secret to Flame Alchemy between June twenty-first and July twenty-second? That’s what you think that message meant?” Al asked, his voice low.

“I’m pretty sure that’s what it meant. Astrological signs aren’t really used anymore except for dates,” Ed confirmed and sighed. “We still have a little over a month.”

Breda suddenly appeared behind Al, panting and his face red.

“Er…Breda? Is everyth–”

“Hawkeye!” Breda gasped out. “She’s been taken captive!”

* * *

For the first time in three weeks, Roy woke peacefully. His eyes weren’t clouded, his mind was sharp, and his injuries hadn’t irritated him during the night. Though it was only the third day since he’d been medically treated and placed in this room, his wounds had healed at an astonishing rate, much quicker than a normal human’s body would be capable of. _How was his body doing this?_ He didn’t know, and suspected the Crow may have had something to do with it. If the Crow _had_ created another Homunculus, that meant he had had a Philosopher’s Stone in his possession at one point. _He still might_.

The soft linen sheets fluttered around his body as he sat up, still weak from the torture wounds, and his eyes caught the familiar blue of his military uniform as he glanced around the room. It was folded correctly in the standard military way on top of the dresser next to his bed, and a note was attached to the front. _My uniform! How did they get it?_ His mind raced as he remembered the hotel in Resembool, and he dragged a hand over his face. _I’m such an idiot_.

Frowning, he leaned forward and plucked the note off of the fabric. A neat hand had written: _General Mustang, you will be escorted to the Dining Hall at 9:30 this evening. Wear the uniform._

Roy scoffed. The audacity. The nerve! He almost laughed out loud. So they were trying a different way of torture now! _You jackasses._ _Like hell I will._ He flicked his hand and the note dropped to the floor. _You can all burn in hell._ He sighed and attempted to stand, determined to regain his strength; his legs still ached, especially the left, which wasn’t in a cast anymore, and as he put weight on his feet he felt the blood rush down to the wound.

Limping over to the dresser, he leaned on the rough wood and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Dark eyes stared back at him and examined his face: the bruises had fled, leaving his face pale and bony, and the small cuts had healed completely. His gaze traveled downward and he saw that his chest, though faintly scarred from the large staples, was the same:  no bruises, no sign of any major injuries, just thin and pale. Frowning, he slowly turned around to study his back. _How had he healed so quickly?_ The tattoo was still there, the blue-black ink standing out against the skin, and he exhaled, satisfied. _Riza. Lieutenant._ He wondered what she was doing now. _If I ever get back…_

His back had taken most of the rough beatings during Macer’s torture, but there were hardly any signs that that had been the case; long lines from the whip and chains covered his back, but they were fully healed as well. _What is going on? I shouldn’t be healing this fast!_ The large angry red burn wound on his right abdomen and lower back was still present, and as he kneaded his skin there, he felt that his ribs had been completely mended and the knife wounds closed.

Roy dropped onto the edge of the bed and sat in disbelief. _I don’t…know. I can’t be doing this by myself. Does he have a Philosopher’s Stone?_ He ran a hand through his black hair, suddenly stopping halfway through. His hands had been released from their bulky splints, and he noticed that his fingers were completely repaired. He rubbed his hands, testing out each finger. _Can I perform alchemy?_ He smirked.

A pounding on the door snatched his attention though and he stood up rapidly, unsure who to expect. The door swung open and a small woman stepped through, lips pinched tight in a disapproving frown.

She held a gun in her hand. “You’re to come with me, Mustang,” she spat in an accent. “The Crow wants his son to join him for dinner.” She kicked the door fully open.

“Yeah? Tell him to–”

The pistol cocked, and Roy found himself glaring down the muzzle. “You’re to do as you’re told, Mustang.” She growled. “Don’t make me use this.”

Roy studied her. She didn’t look incapable or frightened; in fact, she looked dead set on pulling the trigger. _They wouldn’t kill me now._ Yet despite his pride and unwillingness to appease the Crow, he was a tiny bit curious as to what the old man might want. _Old idiot._

“Fine, lady. Let me get dressed.” Roy turned away from her, ignoring the gun. He wasn’t afraid of the stupid things anyway (except in the hands of his Lieutenant) and he’d lost count of how many times they’d been pointed in his direction from criminals and insurgents. He snapped the uniform from its folds and slowly drew on the trousers, trying to be careful with his left leg, and feeling the weight of the material hang on his waist. It felt almost normal. One of his own dress shirts had been included in the bundle– _Damn. What else did they fucking take?–_ and he tucked the hem into the waistline, the routine slowly becoming nostalgic.

“Hurry it up, Mustang,” the woman snapped. “I haven’t got all day.”

Roy ignored the irritating woman and pulled on the jacket, medals and ribbons dangling on his breast. He fastened the buttons in front of the mirror, slowly drinking in his appearance. The epaulettes gleamed haughtily from his shoulders, the three stars polished to a shine. He straightened the jacket and tugged at the bottom of it, noticing that it didn’t fit him quite as well as it used to and hung loosely on his thin body.  Scowling, he tucked the hems of his trousers into his black boots and laced them tightly, still ignoring the complaints of Irritating Gun Woman.

“Done? Move your ass, Mustang,” Irritating Gun Woman gestured with the pistol. “We’re already late.”

Roy said nothing and slowly walked past her out the door. It was the first time he’d been out of the room and he quickly took in his surroundings. _Hallway, stone walls, easily transmutable, only one exit?_

“Give me your hands, Mustang,” the woman ordered, not lowering her pistol. Roy turned to meet her gaze and she held up a pair of metal cuffs. “Crow’s orders. Apparently you’re not trusted with your ability to perform circle-less alchemical transmutations.”

Roy knitted his eyebrows together and reluctantly held up his wrists. The cold metal clapped on his skin like ice and he felt imprisoned again. _Damn. So much for trying to escape this labyrinth._

After the cuffs had been tightened so he couldn’t slip them off, he felt the pistol poke him in the back. “Move, Mustang!”

Choosing not to retort back, he slowly walked down the hallway, passing other armed men and women, who stopped to stare at him as he walked past. He kept his eyes focused on the hallway in front of him, steadily limping on the rough stone floor. With directions from Irritating Gun Woman–“Left here, Mustang. Right. Keep going past this room.”–he eventually made his way to the Dining Hall and she shoved him through the double doors. The Crow stood at the close end of a long table, his hands crossed in front of him. Roy flashed a quick scan around the room, noting that though there was only one visible exit—the one he had just walked through—and there was a small indentation in the far wall outlining a small doorway.

_Hidden passage. Wonder where that leads._

Floor to ceiling windows covered the wall to his left, and he didn’t recognize the outside landscape. _Aerugo_ his brain reminded him.

“Finally made it, General?” The Crow waved Irritating Gun Woman away. “Thank you Lyssa. We have some new recruits that need your help in the range.”

Lyssa backed away from Roy and holstered her weapon. “Sir!” She inclined her head and left, scowling over her shoulder at Roy.

Roy stepped forward with his chin held high and a stoic face. He didn’t acknowledge the Crow. _New recruits? What is this place?_

“Ah. Always the military man aren’t you, son?” He circled Roy, examining the younger man. “Always so cool and collected. Always keeping it under control. Though I’ve heard you have quite the…fiery temper if prodded.” He chuckled. “I’m afraid you got that from me. Your mother was the calm one.”

Roy narrowed his eyes, but still kept silent. A sudden movement captured his attention and he spied two men, presumably some of these _recruits_ , in the corners of the room. They moved toward him slowly and began to flank him.

He almost rolled his eyes. _Amateurs. Can’t you tell by my stance? My blind spot is behind me. Not at the sides._ He thought of Riza. _She would know._

“I’d say you’ve been thoroughly healed. Though that left leg still needs a little work. I’m sorry I haven’t been as attentive to it as your other injuries. Macer did quite a number on it, didn’t he?” The Crow stopped in front of him. “Why don’t we sit down for dinner? I’m sure your body would appreciate the nourishment. I can’t have my son looking like a corpse.” He sat at the head of the far end of the table and two men brought out plates of food. “Finest in Aerugo, General. Sit down.”

Roy heard the click of a gun near his head and slid his eyes toward the sound. A man glared at him from behind the weapon.

_These people are really starting to aggravate me._

He took a seat to the side of the Crow, who was waiting patiently, and watched the older man suspiciously, waiting for some kind of trick. “I promise there is no type of poison in the food, General.” And to prove his point, the Crow leaned over and took a bite from the plate in from of Roy. “I am not so heartless as to kill my own son.”

“What’s the catch?” Roy challenged, placing his cuffed hands on the table and straightening his back.

“No catch, General,” the Crow stated calmly and began to eat. “Can’t a father have a civil conversation with his son?”

“I’m not your son,” Roy bit out. “And I’ve been handcuffed, as I’m sure you’re well aware,” he sneered.

“Of course you’re my son. Where do you think you got your talent for alchemy?” The Crow looked at him with bright eyes. “I heard about how you passed your State Alchemist exam in 1905 at the age of nineteen. The youngest person to ever pass.” He almost sounded proud. “Until dear _Edward Elric_.” He spat out the name venomously.

Roy clenched his teeth. He should have expected that Ed would be dragged into this somehow. “Leave Edward out of this. He has nothing to do with this.”

The Crow glanced up from his food. “And what is the Fullmetal Alchemist to you, General? I’ve had word that he’s returned from Xing from his honeymoon. I’m surprised he married so young,” the Crow commented and shrugged his shoulders, forming creases in his black jacket. “You have my word that the Fullmetal Alchemist will not be harmed. I have no business with him.” He continued to eat. “Unless he crosses me. _Then_ we will have problems. And there will be nothing you can do to save him.”

Roy lowered his head. _Fullmetal. God I hope you’re safe._ “Fine.” Roy knew full well that Ed wouldn’t be able to sit still during whatever this lunatic had in mind.

_If I ever get back, he and Winry must be taken somewhere safe. **Safer**._

“I insist you eat, General. You must keep up your strength.” The Crow raised his eyebrows. “As for the handcuffs, I am sorry, but considering the circumstances of the past few days, I do not have the time to deal with your petty alchemy.”

“Well, after two weeks of torture, you can’t expect me to be perky,” Roy retorted, hands still clenched on top of the table.

“ _Eat_ , General. Must I force you?” The Crow looked disinterested in beginning another argument.

Remembering Macer and his “mealtimes,” Roy sarcastically admitted to himself that this _was_ nicer. He picked up a fork awkwardly with a cuffed hand and slowly brought the food to his mouth, still unsure about whether it was poisoned or not.

After a few moments of utter silence, the Crow stopped eating and looked up at his son. “And how is my lovely sister? I haven’t had word of her for many years.”

Roy stopped eating and glared at the Crow. “She’s fine. I don’t know where she is at the moment,” he said shortly.

It was true. He still received messages from Madame Christmas and she still provided him with covert information (though a bit erratically and not as often as before), but her whereabouts were unknown to him. He figured she would return to East City in her own time and hadn’t pressed her about it. “What do you care?”

“I am grateful to her for taking you in, General. From the looks of it, you’ve become quite the gentleman.” The Crow pushed his plate away and opened a large folder. “Your mother would be very proud at such a fine man you’ve made yourself to be.”

Roy felt his heart tighten and he forced down the will to lash out at the older man again. _How dare you talk about her!_

“I do wonder why you aren’t married yet though, son.” The Crow flipped through pages in the folder and took some out, spreading them in front of him and still not looking up.

“It hasn’t crossed my mind,” Roy said through clenched teeth, his hand gripping the fork with white knuckles.

“A handsome young man like you surely attracts the attention of many young ladies. You certainly inherited your features from your mother.” He chuckled. “Is it because you have already pledged yourself to someone?” The Crow looked up from his papers and looked expectantly at his son. “I don’t see a ring on your hand, so perhaps not.”

Roy stared, incredulous. Was this really just a stupid conversation about nothing? _There **has** to be a catch. _

“I haven’t thought about marriage,” Roy said flatly.

“I’m sure you have, General. You’re thirty-four for God’s sake.” The Crow shrugged again. “But no matter. Eat, General.”

Roy frowned at his hands and hesitantly continued to chew, swallow, chew, swallow, chew, swallow. He couldn’t taste any bitterness that would give away most common chemical poisons, and he grudgingly admitted to himself that he was malnourished and needed the food. He continued to eat in silence, keeping his eyes on the Crow and the two men that had moved behind his own chair; neither had their weapons drawn, but their faces were hard with indignation and surveillance. It appeared he wouldn’t be going anywhere unless the two morons behind him let him.

“Walk with me, General.” The Crow stood when he noticed Roy had stopped eating.

The cold muzzle of a gun was placed between his shoulder blades. Sighing loudly, Roy heaved himself up from the chair, moving his previously broken leg with some difficulty. Using the chair for support, he managed to straighten but looked up to find himself face-to-face with the Crow. They were inches away from each other.

The Crow stared at Roy through dark eyelashes and his gaze dropped to his chest. His lips suddenly broke into a small grin. “Ah, may I?” Without waiting for an answer, touched the smallest of the three medals hanging on Roy’s left breast. “The Eagle’s Heart, I believe? For your outstanding performance in the Ishval Conflict perhaps? I believe it’s the second highest below the Dragon’s Ribbon.” He smoothed the ribbon of the medal, fingering the ribbed cloth. His eyes swept over the three lines of service ribbons that were pinned proudly above the medals. “It’s been years since I’ve seen these ribbons. I did not carry as many as you, General, but still, they bring back such…sentimental memories.” He paused and turned away from Roy, clasping his hands behind his back. “And what did you do to be awarded these decorations, son?” he asked over his shoulder.

Roy said nothing. _Ishval. Burning corpses. Bloodstained hands. Blistering heat. The dead._ Flashes of stifling nightmarish memories ripped through his mind, and dropped his head, suddenly gasping for air. _Pain. Fire. Death. **Murderer**. _

The Crow whirled around, only to find Roy in the exact state as he was before, head held high, shoulders set, and back straight. Lifting an eyebrow, he motioned for Roy to walk with him over to the tall windows. “Aerugo, General. I’m sure this is the first time you’ve stepped out of your dear Amestris.”

Roy stared out the window, slowly orienting himself. It was nighttime and an almost full moon gleamed from her place in the sky directly overhead. Outlines of small hills in the distance framed the landscape, and dozens of bright lamps had been lit in the large courtyard below where a group of fifty or so men and women, all dressed in the same gray shirt and navy pants, were standing at attention. From his place on the second floor, Roy could dimly make out the face of Lyssa—Irritating Gun Woman—pacing in front of the line of recruits, shouting out orders. _What is this place?_

“I’m sure you have questions as to who I am to these people, Roy,” the Crow addressed him. “And I’ll tell you.”

The General felt the familiar cold muzzle against his back again. “Don’t try anything stupid, Mustang,” the man behind the gun growled.

“A leader of a group of people who will slowly tear down your Amestrian Empire from the inside out,” the Crow continued. “Amestris took something dear of mine without pity or remorse, and I intend on taking it back.” He observed the men and women below him. “And you, my son, will help me.”

“You’re insane,” Roy said, incredulous at this stupid man’s audacity.

“Am I?” the Crow queried.

“I won’t help you,” Roy ground out. “ _And I. Am not. Your son._ You’re a maniacal liar with an ego twice as big. You’re insane,” he repeated.

“Roy. Roy, Roy, Roy,” the Crow sighed. “Stubborn as always.” He turned to face the General. “And still so naïve. You _will_ help me, willing or not. I’m afraid I have a bit of leverage over you right now, and you’re in no place to refuse.” He turned back to the window. “Your Flame Alchemy will be a valuable resource for me.”

“You won’t be getting it,” Roy said as calmly as he could. He was beginning to feel hot and overwhelmed, and the Crow’s requests were getting old. _The sigil needs to be kept secret._

The Crow opened his mouth and the next two words struck Roy like a bolt of lightning.

“ _Riza Hawkeye._ ”

He jerked violently and his eyes went dangerously dark. A thousand thoughts rippled through his head, each one ending in death. _Lieutenant! How did they find out? She’s safe. She’s safe. The team is safe. Did they find her? No._ He thought back to Fuhrer King Bradley.

_It’s happening again._

“Riza Hawkeye.” The Crow smiled maliciously. “I received a very informative phone call yesterday from Ania. Apparently Master Berthold Hawkeye did not have a son, like I had previously assumed, but a _daughter_.” He straightened his collar on his long neck, still grinning. “Quite the fair young woman she is, son. Quite _attractive_.”

Roy clenched his fists until he could feel the skin break. _I can’t let this happen again!_ “And what do you think she is to me?” he asked slowly.

“Considering that you wear her dog tag and that you’ve known her for more than twenty years, I’d say you have developed a rather close bond with this woman. I could presume it has nothing to do with the romantic, as she’s apparently been your adjutant for her entire military career, you wear no ring, and with your…cavorting around with numbers of other women; from an outsider’s standpoint, it would appear she is just another officer.” The Crow paused, and turned to face Roy again, a smirk plastered on his lips. “But, fortunately for me, that is not the case. Rumors have their way of reaching my ears and from what I’ve heard, I’d say you’re more than involved with this girl.” He began ticking reasons off his fingers and Roy felt his heart sink at each one. “The Ishval Conflict. Amestris’s Third Laboratory. The so-called Promised Day; my informants in Amestris are very diligent. You would die for this woman, would you not? You’ve invested too much emotion and _feeling_ into this woman for me to overlook, so pardon me if I take advantage of this rather, ah, _convenient_ relationship. ”

Roy closed his eyes, doubt gnawing at his very being, and despair flooding within him. _It’s happening again. The Lieutenant. My weak point. These bastards._ He cracked his eyes open to find the Crow filling his field of vision. A bead of sweat trickled down his aching neck and he struggled to find words for an answer. None were forthcoming. “She’s–”

“You _will_ help me take down Amestris,” the Crow interrupted, and placed a fatherly hand on Roy’s shoulder so that Roy had to look up to meet his eyes. “Or Riza Hawkeye will die by your own hand.”

The Crow’s widening smirk seared itself onto Roy’s retinas, and his mind erupted with phantom images of Riza Hawkeye dead with unseeing eyes as his flames devoured her body.


End file.
